


Born To Run - Spy England x Reader

by Gold_Blooded



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Agent Jones - Freeform, Agent Kirkland, Born to Run - Freeform, Bounty Hunters, Dead or Alive - Freeform, F/M, FBI, Inspired by a Bruce Springsteen song, Los Angeles, Nevada, Spies, Spytalia, a LOT of references, mafia, wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 22:09:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gold_Blooded/pseuds/Gold_Blooded
Summary: A cunning yet displaced spy named Arthur Kirkland is tasked to shepherd a mysterious girl to safety across the U.S. and gain information on a corrupt, underground organization. With mafias, the FBI, and a mysterious assassin lurking in the shadows, the mismatched duo must evade every obstacle. It's what they've been doing their whole lives. After all, they were born to run.





	1. Prologue

The night sky was a deep navy causing the colors of the canyons to have its colors dull into different shades of blue. 

One could watch from the plateaus the hard brilliance of the stars, enjoying the incredible hazy swarm of a star cluster. 

The cold, blue-white smoke of a gaseous nebula - the arm of Earth’s galaxy, spread over a strip of the sky like distant milk, filling the space with an icy tinge, and slowly disappearing out of sight as dawn nears. 

But if one listens closely, he or she can hear the soft sound of singing echoing through the night. It was low and throaty, but the hymn had a soft rhythm to it. It felt ancient as if this song was passed down from generation to generation which covered all of their ancestors' achievements and struggles in some low notes.

The song was coming from an old Indian chief, who was covered with a crown of feathers and bearing the paint that represents strength and honor, a code that many lived and died by.

He sat by a small fire a few feet away from his tepee which was plain aside from the trimmings of it colored red and turquoise and embroidered in a geometrical design.

Close to him sat his granddaughter, whose hair is usually plaited, was let down and looked like an inky waterfall cascading over her shoulders. She sat clad in her traditional sleep-wear clothes that could be itchy to one foreign to the material.

As the chief sung, his flame crackling along, his descendant couldn’t help but look at the sky.

For a brief moment, his granddaughter gasped as she saw a brief streak of light before it disappeared.

“Look, a shooting star!” she said with childish wonder which caused the Indian Chief to cease his song of the night.

“That is no ordinary star, my child. That is the tear of a warrior,” the elder spoke. She looked at him with curiosity as his old eyes stared off into the abyss above accompanied by its little lights. 

“A lost soul who has finished his battles somewhere on this Earth,” he continued. “A pitiful soul who could not find his way to the lofty realm where the great spirit awaits us all.”

He closed his eyes and resumed singing, cutting through the silent night but reaching no ears.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The street was dead silent and the sidewalk was empty, with the exception of one man. He walks down the pavement, taps a cigarette, and raises it to his lips to light it. With a click, the flame of the lighter reveals the face of a young man: MI6 Agent Arthur Kirkland.

Strong, invigorated, a killer stare, and composure are all the traits that he strikes in others at a first glance. The flame danced momentarily as blue smoke swirled, giving him a look of intensity before the flame fades.

Arthur smokes his cigarette and stares at a somewhat lively restaurant across the street which contrasts the exterior setting. He checks his gun to see if it's loaded, slips it back into his shoulder holster, raises his collar against the London wind and trots toward the restaurant. He gets inside and sits quietly at a table in the corner putting out his cigarette.

He optically canvassed the scene before him from a distance. Two men were seated at a table, one of which was cheerfully conversing with the other. The man speaking was rather rotund and pompous looking, and the other appeared more muscular, classy, and slightly older; however, they both had the faces of sinister men.

A waiter went over to their table and presumably asked what they would be drinking. Kirkland overheard the order and stood by for the waiter to relay the memorized the drink to the bartender at a counter not too far away from his targets. As soon as the bartender began preparing the target’s beverage, Kirkland made his way to the counter to order his own drink as a distraction. “I would like a pint of Bloody Mary.”

The bartender nodded as he finished up the target’s alcoholic concoction, placed it on the counter near Arthur, and started to prepare Kirkland’s order. 

With stealth, Kirkland took out a thin tube from his jacket pocket, waiting for the right moment to carry out his plan when the bartender wasn’t looking.

‘Now.’ he thought and discreetly injected a clear liquid into the beverage by pressing a small button located at the top; the substance blending in its solvent with speed.

Once the bartender was finished, he slid it over to the blond before he moved to place the target’s drink on a small tray and hailed the table server to deliver the order. Kirkland sipped his Bloody Mary with a dark gleam in his eyes and watched the waiter carry the poisoned refreshment to the table.

Yes, his target will drink the poison and his mission will be comple-

CLASH!

Unless faced with a human error, his plan would have been flawless. 

The waiter had accidentally dropped the tray causing the drinks to fall to the floor and Arthur’s plan shattered. Quite literally.

The sound of the accident caused the restaurant to go silent and divert all attention towards the flustered waiter cleaning up the mess before they all went back and resumed talking at a noisy level. Arthur’s target was just about to do the same, but right when he was going to look back at his partner he made eye contact with Arthur, and by instinct, knew that he was after him.

Arthur quickly pulled out his gun and fired a bullet, catching the target in his thick bulging throat before he could do anything. Right when the shot rang out, the staff and customers at the bar hid under pieces of furniture covering their heads accompanied by a few feminine shrieks, luckily avoiding the chance to witness such brutality. 

The man Arthur had shot at made a horrible, gagging, choking sound and locked eyes with his killer’s dark green ones. The delirium caused from the trauma made those green orbs more pronounced and luminescent before he fell to the floor with a lifeless thud.

The other man stood up abruptly, shoving away the table in efforts to have more room to fire. He tried to draw out a hidden gun as fast as he could, but Kirkland beat him to it as he had already reached for his shoulder holster from underneath his jacket. Without warning, Kirkland pulls the trigger and part of the man’s head was blown away; a spray of fine mist of blood cover the entire area. 

Then there was silence followed by a door softly closing, signaling that Arthur left safely before the people who took refuge came to see two bodies on the floor.

...All within a blink of an eye...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The sound of a bullet at one end of the world echoes across the ocean to the other end. Conflict is not self contained in its respective region--the consequences reverberate through every nation across the world and therefore must be avoided at all costs.

Unfortunately, this logic is often ignored by many including a young agent, Number 086 otherwise known as Arthur Kirkland. His boss sighed at the thought of the young lad.

It was just another day at MI6. Kirkland’s Boss, a middle-aged man who’s colloquially known as “Sir” throughout the entire section of his building, was sitting in his office. He was hunched over on his desk, reviewing classified documents and whatnot. He stared at a paper but didn’t read it, instead he let his thoughts wander on how it has become so common to have Arthur do something drastic or uncalled for, that cleaning up after him has become a norm; and the newer agents who would worship the very ground he’d walk upon weren’t helping. 

Kirkland was a great agent, and the system couldn’t ask for anyone better. But out of the blue, he became more reckless and very apathetic. He had just murdered two men in public which caused Her Majesty’s clandestine operatives to go into a frenzy and create an elaborate story for the reason. However, they’re gradually becoming less cooperative as Arthur’s ego and brash nature grow. He was so right before, but then he changed.  
What caused it?

Speak of the devil, the door handle to his office turned and came in a blond shaggy-haired Englishmen with sharp, jade eyes. Kirkland marched into the sleek and futuristic office of MI6. wearing black jogging shorts that reached his knees, black Nikes, a dark-colored T-shirt, and a matching hoodie. “You look like you’ve sprinted a mile.”

“Stunning introduction, Sherlock. Did the gym shorts give it away? Or were you informed previously concerning my activities.” Arthur was already sarcastic and he barely just strolled into his boss’s office. “What is it now?” 

“I think you would know.” Kirkland’s boss said. He remembered a time when Arthur would be nicer and would at least smile every once in awhile. 

“And what would that be?” Arthur was getting slightly agitated. He wasn’t always this bitter, he used to be a lot more respectful. Until he…

No. 

It’s best not to think about this now.

“There’s some trouble regarding an underground organization, but I think it’s a lot deeper than you think.” He pulled at another envelope from his desk drawer with a stamp saying ‘Blue Intel’ and handed it to Arthur.

“Blue Intel?” Arthur muttered.

“Apparently, this is a system in which the underground organization collects information on political individual's, military secrets, but most importantly agents from around the world including MI6.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“There was only one name found on the file who has done past dealings with Blue Intel, and a group of FBI Agents is doing some research in Los Angeles.” The boss took the envelope from Arthur and placed it back in his drawer. “You know where to go.”


	2. In a Single Day and Night

Arthur Kirkland arrived in L.A. around sometime in the early evening; his airplane was angled for descent and lines up for landing.

Arthur stared out the window to see lines of lights visible on the landing pad due to the setting sun; intersecting among other lines of lights which brightened and dimmed in different colors and shades. There were scores of them creeping across the landing, following their individual trails, mixing themselves through intersection points to arrive at their respective destinations. 

The airplane landed in a medley of noises. There was the far-off hiss of the air cutting and sliding past the metal of the aircraft. There was the steady drone of the tires fighting the heat of friction, and the slower rumble of the engines enforcing deceleration. 

He had arrived at his destination.

Arthur stood in a short line to have his luggage placed on the conveyor belt where it will be scanned - of course, none of his weapons or other MI6 gadgets would be detected. His false visa was inspected and stamped. The man at the desk who finished inspecting it jerked a thumb, “Exit's that way.” 

The agent followed the man’s instructions as well as the signs marked as “Ground Transport” until he exited the airport. As soon as he went outside he noticed the air felt a little thicker here, probably due to the humidity, but he would get used to that. 

Many cars were outside, mostly yellow as well as occupied. The Brit tried to find an empty taxi cab until he saw something stand out. A man wearing sunglasses standing next to a sleek black car. Arthur notices the man has blond hair and an ahoge sticking up as he approached him.

“Excuse me, are you Arthur Kirkland?” He senses trouble. 

“Do I know you?” Arthur said curtly.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, three men in suits appear and surround Arthur, each of them wearing sunglasses. The British agent stares at them in silence as the four men stare him down through their dark lenses. Arthur slowly reaches into his breast pocket and puts on his own sunglasses, and smiles back at the group and at their supposed “leader”, clearly mocking them. 

Now everyone's wearing sunglasses. 

“Inspector Alfred F. Jones, Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the leader said and pulled out a golden badge with an insignia of an eagle and a shield that showed his status in the FBI.

“Nice badge,” Arthur remarked sarcastically.

“I want to know if you’re working on anything to do with [Name]?”

“Never heard of her.” Arthur was honest in what he said; in fact, he was taken aback for being asked such a question. However, Arthur covered up signs of confusion: he didn’t want to look clueless especially in front of Americans. 

Alfred just laughed a bit as he put his badge away. “I believe you have, dude,” he took a short breath before he resumed speaking. “I got word that MI6 has sent an agent out to work on the Blue Intel case and let me tell you something: I've been working three years trying to bring down that organization and [Name] is my shot; I want to take her into Federal Court.” 

“So you’re going to tell me not to do my job?” Arthur challenged.

“You heard me,” Alfred continued. “My boss thinks it’s rather unnecessary to have someone out of this country interfering with our affairs, so I’m asking you to kindly step away from this case.” Arthur tried to maintain his composure, and he usually does so by making fun of the people he dislikes.

“May I ask you something,” Arthur spoke up after a while. “Those sunglasses you wear are very nice. Are they government issued or do you all go to the same store and buy them?”

“Do I make myself understood?” Alfred asked through clenched teeth, getting irked by Arthur’s cocky behavior. The agents turned to leave after saying what needed to be said and hoped Arthur would comply, they could already tell that he might be a handful. 

Before Arthur turned to go on his way he called out to Alfred. “I hope you realize I have a mission you’re interfering with.” 

“So do I,” Alfred pointed out when he stopped walking to face Arthur. “And as long as you’re in my country, you will do as I say. Are we clear?”

Arthur glared at him for a while, “Crystal.” 

And with that, he walked away to hail a cab and entered the blunt-nosed vehicle. 

Little do they know that was their first mistake: never belittle Arthur Kirkland, or it just might come back to bite you.

 

\-----------

 

"Here we are," said the driver, unnecessarily. He helped Arthur with his baggage, accepted the money with a businesslike air, and was taking off on the road again. 

Arthur walked into the lobby where he gave the desk clerk a name which he uses for his missions, and in return gave him his room key. He entered his room which was dark before he flipped a switch and illuminated the space with a pearly white. He walked over to the bed and decided to rest. He researched all information given to him and, His mission starts tomorrow. He laid back on the king's size bed allowing his eyes to droop and succumbing to the welcoming and gentle arms of sleep.

 

\-----------

 

The next day rolled around, and Arthur decided to do some investigating. 

He stepped out of the hotel and was greeted by a gentle breeze he paid no mind too. People were out and about doing their daily routine. 

One thing did catch his eye, though: it was probably an adolescent male that he couldn’t see the face of due to the distance and to the hoodie said person pulled over his face. 

He was wearing small black combat boots, slightly baggy jeans, and a black jacket. He usually sees people dressed like this many times, but what caught his attention was the person’s behavior. He kept looking side to side and hesitated slightly every time a man in a suit appears. Although this gesture is seemingly unnoticeable to the pedestrians, Arthur had the eye of a hawk and was trained to read body movements. This ability had proven its use a multitude of times in his previous missions.

The figure stopped and rotated its head to face Arthur’s who was across the street. They made eye contact briefly (though Arthur couldn’t see his eyes) before the figure started walking and picking up its pace. Arthur followed and ended up on the same street as him and pursued to stalk. The figure must’ve sensed this and broke into a stride which the agent mimicked. Finally, it was a chase.

As the two of them ran down the street and the number of pedestrians became fewer, and fewer, until the concrete path was desolate of any bystanders, the figure made a sharp turn into an alley which Arthur took soon after and sees him making his way up the fire escape and proceeds to go out after him. The man makes his way up to the roof and starts running again. 

The blond agent hoists himself up to the roof, pursuing the fleeing man who leaps from his building over to the next. Arthur, hot on his trail, does the same thing. The man vaults over another alley to a third building which Arthur copied. 

Amazed that Arthur is still on his tail, the hooded figure makes his most daring jump yet. He lands with a tumble, scoops up himself up, and keeps moving. 

Without missing a beat, Arthur makes the leap and barely misses. He grabs at the ledge with his armpits and slides slowly, grasping for dear life as the old ledge cracks causing some debris to fall away. Arthur manages to pull himself back onto the roof. Winded, he spots the figure going down a fire escape at the far end of the building. The agent is up and after him. 

The man continues down the metal staircase and his pursuer clangs down after him. The hooded figure hits the ground and runs into an alley. Arthur drops to the concrete in pursuit and as he turns into the alley, he realizes he lost him. He panted looking around for any sign of him but sees a more interesting sight instead.

There was Alfred just a few buildings away in a street across from him, getting out of his black limo with other agents. Kirkland quickly ducked behind concrete stairs of a building and peered through the railings. He noticed Alfred meeting some other men that emerged from the building. After the men disappeared inside the building, the Brit looked up and saw the name of the tower. 

The metal lettering that adorned the top of the infrastructure was probably taken off probably 3 to 4 weeks ago, but there was a faint print left behind which read Cyon Industries. Since there was nothing else to do here, Arthur sneaked away back to his hotel. 

Upon his research, Arthur discovered that Cyon Industries was a building that was some sort of accounting business that never made a name for itself. The building was actually emptied a year ago and the business was moved elsewhere. Luckily for Arthur, the building’s letterings weren’t removed until recently. It’s ironic that Arthur reaped the fruits of labor from slackers who didn’t get around to this job until recently.

He shut the lid of the laptop and sighed as he turned towards the window of an already setting sun. Arthur decided that it was best to investigate in the cover of night, use the absence of light to his advantage and find out what the FBI was doing in that building.

For the majority of the day, Arthur either ate, looked over computer files regarding his case, or played solitaire. Not everyone expects this, but the first few days of an agent’s mission can be quite stagnant. It was a waiting game, a game of chess: calculating your move, your opponent’s, and the right opportunity to strike. 

But Arthur need not wait any longer, for the sun has set, and the sky provided him a dark shroud to hide him from the eyes of others. 

 

\-----------

 

He arrived at Cyon Industries by hiding in the shadows. The building seemed deprived of life, but still gave off an eerie feeling. Arthur felt his gun in his pocket every time he moved, as he climbed the side of the building.

There were no people, no cameras, and no traps from what he can tell. He had skillfully entered from one of the windows of the building near the top and carefully let himself in. He seemed to be in an office since there was a desk strewn with a paraphernalia of papers and pens or other items usually associated with a desk job. Most importantly there was a computer. 

He assumed that this was not Cyon’s materials but for those other FBI Agents Alfred met and knew that the clues to his answers are on that computer.

He pressed the power button, plugged in his hard drive and commenced hacking into the computer immediately. There were many files, many consisting of either shipments, payments, etc. but it was all government based. 

Arthur knew he hadn’t had much time, he predicted that sooner or later Alfred would know about Arthur’s activities and send men right away. He quickly searched the word Blue Intel that could be located in any of the files. He found the same old stuff in the digital portfolio MI6 had but there was one file that caught his eye. He clicked to enlarge it to see the information it contained:

*Assassination Skills Enhancement Experiment:  
*Clinical Trial Sample: Subject No. 32:  
*Codename: Angra:  
*A marked regression of the mind occurring during enhancement development process: Experiment canceled:  
*Sample permanently retained at quarantine facility.

He clicked on a file about the Assassination Skills Enhancement Experiment. 

It turns out the subject, or rather, the person they were testing on disappeared from the facility he was supposed to be quarantined in and was labeled as a dangerous man. There was only one picture of him; however, the man’s face was covered in shadows. The backlight from the street behind him just gave Arthur the silhouette of the man, but he strangely sensed he knew who it was. 

He enlarged another file and scrolled to the part where Blue Intel was mentioned. There was one problem, though: the file in which he clicked had the majority of the text blurred since he was in a rush and didn’t let the hard drive properly enhance it in time. 

Kirkland growled at the dead end, but he read the few lines of words that weren’t blurred. He didn't gain much information on Blue Intel's background, but he discovered something a lot more interesting. Apparently, $15 million dollars were lost to one person, which was pretty impressive. Whoever psyched this organization was arrested, skipped bail, and now has a huge bounty on his/her head. 

There were no other coherent lines of text that weren’t blurred: random words of “is”, “that”, “the”, etc. were some of the examples that were legible. But Arthur paused when he spotted an unblurred noun in the file: “[Name]”.

Was this [Name] behind the heist?

Before Arthur could read any further, he heard footsteps running up the stairs followed by police sirens. He quickly took out his flash drive which sent any files he enlarged to his boss back at MI6 and pocketed it before he pulled out his gun. The door burst open and two men in suits fired at him Arthur dodged and the bullets hit the window which he had entered. Arthur fired at the men who crippled to the floor immediately. He heard more footsteps heading his way. The Brit quickly exited the building by jumping out of the window in which the feeble glass couldn’t prevent.

 

\-----------

 

The world felt quiet to you. The darkness had settled over in its gossamer veil, a gentle shroud of ink and indigo, the perfect shade of abysmal midnight.

You were walking down the streets with your black combat boots hitting the pavement beneath you. You were just getting back from a low-key restaurant where you ate and were heading back to your motel room. 

You were slightly jumpier than usual today, probably because that strange man was chasing you. He had blond shaggy hair and piercing emerald eyes that chilled you to the bone. He began to chase you after you made eye contact and walked at a faster pace until it became a mad dash to safety. You inwardly cringed thinking that you might’ve possibly given yourself away too easily. 

‘Nah, he must’ve mistaken me for someone else? A friend he knew? I do look like a boy in these clothes.’ you reasoned to yourself as you fiddled with your (hair length) hair. You let out a shaky sigh of relief before your heart hammered in your chest again as you heard many police sirens headed your way. You felt your heart stop for a moment until you realized they went past you and stopped at a building.

“Go! Go! Go!” you heard a police officer ushering his squadron. 

Rather than run to safety upon hearing the yelling that came from the other side of the street, you decided to eye the scene curiously. You walked closer to the army of blue but still maintained your distance. 

You weren't able to see what's happening in the building - no one could - but everyone got startled when two gunshots rang out. Next, there was the sound of shattering glass filling your ears. You covered your eyes with your forearms, forming an “X” shape to protect any shards that could’ve hit your face. You lowered your arms as you heard some officers shuffle backward. You opened your eyes to see a man charging towards you.

He quickly locked your body in place by firmly wrapping his arm around your throat. You saw him pull out a knife and gently poked it on the side of your neck where your jugular is. You felt your artery pulse against the sharp point of the blade and squeeze from the light pressure of the poke. He shouted at the police when they slowly neared the two of you. 

And luckily for the both of you, they weren't close enough to see your faces.

“Unload your firearms and drop them on the ground or this girl will be spouting a fountain of blood.” He threatened in a cold voice as he applied some pressure just enough to show the cops how he’s denting your skin, but not enough to draw blood. 

“Do it now!” he demanded. The officers complied with reluctance and dropped their weapons. You detected your attacker’s smirk since his face was close to yours. He walked back a few steps; taking you with him until he released you swiftly and vanished into the night. You tried to see where he went but you lost sight of him. 

‘I guess it’s a tie.’ you thought back when you disappeared from him.

You heard a lot of footsteps heading your way and noticed that the sound was coming from a lot of officers heading your way to probably ask if you are hurt or other questions. Fearing that they might find out about your past, let alone recognize you, you managed to run as fast as you could and your figure evanesced into nature’s ebony shrouds.

Little did you know, a British agent noticed this erratic behavior which piqued his interest.

 

\-----------

 

On the way to your motel room, you looked up at the inky sky blotting out the little pinholes of light, concealing celestial bodies eons far from the sun. You sighed as you stargazed. It was something you did to calm yourself down.

After unlocking the door, you went inside your motel room and practically threw yourself down onto the couch. After a few minutes of lying comfortably on the furniture piece, you started to worry if pictures of you have been taken, or if anyone recognized you. 

It was best to lay low tonight before you move to a different city, and on top of that you should catch up on the hours of sleep you missed. You nuzzled yourself more into the couch and decided to sleep here, feeling too lazy to move to the bed.

“Feeling tired?”

You leapt to your feet looking around the room; paranoia blazing in your eyes, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breath scraping its way through your throat. You soon become certain he’s here, ready and waiting. 

It didn’t take long to spot a figure a man who melted into the darkness of your room with ease. Your pulsating muscle relaxed slightly for the nth time today. “Calm down now, love,” the stranger stepped into the light giving you a better look of him as his cold green eyes scanned over you to trace your figure and the features of your face, innocently trying to note who you are. You couldn’t help but trace your eyes over him as well. His blond hair was tousled, his skin was close to pale but still lively. His overall physique was skinny but muscular at the same time. “Remember me?”

“Who are you? How’d you find me?” you asked quickly before adding another question. “What do you want?”

He walked just a little closer to you, but still kept his distance. He chose to only answer your last question. “I just wanted to extend my gratitude to you.”

“Gratitude?” You repeated with confusion. Your eyebrows shifted from being furrowed to raised. “No, no, no- I don’t like the sound of that; gratitude is merely a lively expectation of favors to come.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you? I looked like I committed grand theft, but you ran from the police. Now, why is that?”

“Everyone has secrets,” you replied coolly.

“Only if they’re dangerous.”

If he wants to play this game, it’s fine by you. “Oh? I bet you know everything about me,” you added sarcastically. 

“Not yet,” he slyly smiled and is pleased to see your face twist with confusion and shock. He decided to mess with you more. “Oh, and one more thing.” 

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You may want to pay attention to how you pack,” he gestured to the corner of the room. You turned to see your small backpack, resting on a chair, was slightly open giving him a partial view of your undergarments. Flustered, you immediately grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it towards the backpack which censored the article of clothing. Mentally cursing yourself, you turned back to glare (and perhaps yell) at the man. But you couldn't.

He was no longer there.


	3. To Find the Guilty, Look in the Mirror

The street glowed with the early blue of dawn. Across the way, there's a carnival of bail bond offices, all with lights and inviting signs. Arthur heads for the sideshow. 

Arthur kept hearing about “[Name] this” or “[Name] that”, but didn’t have any leads except with the information on the file. Arthur needed to meet a bail bondsman who had information on [Name] [Last Name] since she skipped on the bill she needed to pay for the bail.

At least, that’s what the file read.

Normally, bail bondsmen call upon bounty hunters to find these runaway fugitives, but this time Arthur is going to pay him in order to get information. 

The person Arthur is meeting goes by the name Vladimir Popescue, a Romanian bail bondsman with shaggy light brown hair, has such intense brown eyes that they look almost red, and a small fang on the left side of his mouth. He was wearing a small top hat with two ribbons coming off of it. He is described as friendly, cheerful, and quite mischievous, but also as carelessly eccentric. 

Arthur walks into a small office, to see Vladimir sitting at his desk who greeted him with a smile. He motioned Arthur to take a seat which he obliged.

“Do you know who [Name] [Last Name] is?” Arthur asked, getting straight to the point.

“The question is: do you know who she is?” apparently his provider isn’t thinking the same way.

“Yes, she's the girl that embezzled a couple million from some bounder, and then donated it to charity,” he said remembering the contents of the file.

“That's pretty good,” Vladamir's eyes gleamed and smiled a little more revealing an elongated canine tooth. “only it wasn't a ‘couple of million,’ it was fifteen million and it wasn't just ‘some bounder,’ it was a man named Morro Kevin Jameson.”

“What's so special about him?“

“The guy's a mobster! No one wants to mess with him, and no one can bring him down - not even the FBI due to his power and the serious lack of evidence of any illicit activities he was involved in,“ Vladimir licked his lips in excitement as he continued to speak. 

“Which is why the FBI wants [Name]; they'll have a sound witness to put him in jail. On the other hand, Jameson will do anything to shut her up before she sets foot in court. Probably kill her.“

“Could you tell me more about Jameson?“

“Tch, I wish. The only thing I can tell you is that a lot of the illegal things he does involves heroin deals. Otherwise. the guy lives in secret, but it must be pretty hard since he's well known.“

“And what do you have against her?” Arthur continued to interrogate.

“I bailed her out!” Vladamir exclaimed as his face changed into a more aggravated expression. “Only because I didn't know who she was at the time. If I knew, I never would've put up the bond. I mean it would only be a matter of time before Jameson vanished her from the planet, and now I'm out my four hundred and fifty grand.” 

Arthur's eyes widened with surprise, “You lost four hundred and fifty thousand dollars on her?”

“No,” the Romanian said abruptly.

“No?”

“No. Because I know you’re looking for her, why else would you be asking me these questions.” his reddish eyes twinkling with mischief.

He must've thought Arthur was a bounty hunter of some sort and decided to play along. “I need the booking slip of her.” Arthur requested. The booking slip has one’s description and background; he thought if he could figure out what the girl looks like, he’ll have a better chance of finding her.

“You’re in luck, I’m the one who has it. I'll get you a copy.” The Romanian got up and shuffled about in his file drawer.

“I need to see the original,” the blond clarified.

“Copies were good enough for the FBI~” 

“They're looking for her, too?” Arthur asked slightly amused.

“The girl's wanted all over the states. Except for Nevada, but I don’t think she knows it.” 

Vladamir pulls out a manilla folder and gives Arthur the booking slip. “Hey, so many people are paying me for telling her information, I can probably earn my money back this way.” He joked sitting back down in his seat.

Arthur skims through the booking slip, looking for any useful details. Most of the background information was labeled as ‘not applicable.’ Arthur’s eyes stopped skimming where it mentions the description of the bounty and realized he has met a woman who matches the description. 

...And who was running away from the police last night. Surely a coincidence, right? 

 

No.

 

God does not play with dice nor does Arthur believe in coincidences.

 

\-----------

 

It was early dawn and you decided to pack everything you had which were just necessities like toiletries, a thick roll of cash, a pocket knife, pepper spray, and only four outfits (you were currently wearing one of them) which consisted of jeans, graphic shirts, and socks. All of which managed to fit in a small backpack with a lock on it. 

You had to pack light for your sake.

Packing away the last of your possessions and locking the bag, you proceeded to leave the room until you heard a voice.

“Leaving so soon?” 

You jumped at the British accent that came behind you, causing a chill to run down your spine. You spun around to glare at the intrusive man standing behind the sofa, staring you down. The blond man vaulted over said furniture piece seemingly with no effort at all to get closer to you. “You should really get a better lock for your windows.” 

In response, you just stared with a mix of shock and anger in your eyes and uttered a single word. “You!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “That’s right, love. Me,” pointing out the obvious.

“You draw far too much attention to yourself for someone who acts secretive!” You stated as you crossed your arms and stood closer to him. “Are you stupid?”

“Ooh, what a comeback…” you heard him wince mockingly.

“That’s the impression I’m getting.” You grumbled, ignoring his sarcasm.

You walked towards the sofa to have a seat. “Look, what do you want from me? I don’t have anything of value, so bother some other girl living in a penthouse.” You crossed your arms and huffed, looking the other way. 

“All I want is a little more caution from you,” he progressed near you again. “I can’t have someone like you give out details to others.” You looked back up at him.

“What are you talking about?” you decided you’ll act clueless to avoid suspicion. But, he hit you with another question.

He bent down closer to you and uttered in a low voice, “Who are you, [Name]?” 

Once again, your heart quickened. He knew your name! Maybe he didn’t know who you were last time and just found out! 

Or maybe he’s just some psycho... 

Either way, you didn’t want to stick around to find out: he seemed like trouble. 

You bolted towards the door, causing the man to click his tongue and use his fast reflexes to beat you to the exit, standing in the way. “W-well you just said my name, right?” you stuttered as you looked at the window with the corner of your eye. Arthur knew your motive and already reached for you, preventing escape.

“Why’d you run from the police? Who are you?” His voice sent a shiver down your spine. It sounded so cold. 

In contrast, your body felt warm and tingly the moment he grabbed your arm, keeping you in place when he yanked on your hand. “Y-you know you didn’t give me your name...” your mouth went dry and your voice trailed off.

He stared at you cautiously before he slowly released you from his grip, “Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” 

Your heart slowed as he released you. “Well, it seems you already know my name…” you stated with a pause following afterward.

“Hey,” He broke the silence rather abruptly, causing you to look up at him with an inquisitive expression.

“Yeah?”

“A deal’s a deal; tell me about yourself.” 

You hesitated on whether you wish to tell him or not. Even though he’s asking, he might have a clue on who you are already. Still, you didn’t want to give him any answers just in case.

“I had a file regarding something about an organization.” Arthur knew you were the same girl in the file, but in case he was wrong he wanted to word it in a way so he won’t give out classified information. He can see your eyes dilate just slightly. 

“Something about how a huge portion of their money went missing…” he saw you stiffen for a brief moment, knowing he had you. “And on that file was your name.”

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, and exhaled “Fine.” You opened your eyes and looked up at the agent. “I can't talk right now. We should probably leave this motel, I don’t think I’m safe here especially after that stunt you pulled.”

“Not to worry, love, I’m taking you to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?”

“Orders from MI6. You may have information that we’ll need but like you said, we need to move out now. You’ll be safe there.” He made sure he sounded as reassuring as possible.

You hesitated still. Why should you trust him? Something in your heart and the back of your mind decided to take him up on his offer.

“Alright.”

That one word sealed your fate with the devilish agent, and your adventure had just begun.


	4. Words Retain Their Power

“Trust no one, my friend, no one. Not your most grateful freedman, not your most intimate friend, not your dearest child, not the love of your life. Trust no one.” - Herod Agrippa to Claudius

 

An old warning that was forgotten in time, but the main idea of it reoccurs in the minds of those who are weary. In your case, you couldn’t trust anyone since everyone in the nation is after you. But despite your situation, you decided to place a little bit of faith and reliance on someone other than yourself.

'How did I get here?' you thought to yourself. 

This was happening too fast for your liking. Here you are; a runaway with a bounty on your head which had probably increased now to over half of a million dollars. And next to you was a man by the name Arthur Kirkland, an MI6 agent. 

 

What are the odds.

 

He had taken you to a hotel which was much nicer than all the motels you’ve been staying at. You followed Arthur to the hotel room like a stumbling child would follow his or her mother. As soon as the two of you set foot in the room, he immediately pulled wires from a now unzipped pouch in his suitcase leaving you to stand around in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you inquired.

“I need to contact my boss,” he answered as he plugged the wires to his laptop and hooked it up to the hotel’s television. Within a few seconds, the image of a middle-aged man showed up on the screen.

“Yes, Kirkland?” his boss asked

“Tell me what’s going on.” Arthur was regarding the files he sent to his boss. He couldn’t access the files on his device since it was a special MI6 laptop; it was designed so that it will delete files after a certain period time, so in case it falls into the wrong hands the enemy can’t access the information.

“Those files you showed were two separate individuals affected by the same organization.” his boss replied.

“I figured as much.”

“We’ve tried to research Angra, but we couldn’t find out anything about his past. However, we’ve found out that some files in our database were destroyed around the same time when secretive militiamen were conducting their experiment on him.”

“So there is some speculation that he was a part of MI6?” Kirkland replied. He subtly stiffened due to a strange burning sensation from his chest. Probably it’s the nerves.

“Precisely.”

“What about the girl?” the agent gestured to you. You had kept a tight lid since you were extremely paranoid that someone might overhear you somehow, and that'd be the end. Especially since the agent you're with nearly jeopardized your cover the night before. Anyway, it's not like Arthur understood the "female" capacity to avoid a direct answer to any question.

“Miss [Name], as you know, stole $15 million from a major heroin dealer named Morro Kevin Jameson, to which she gave to the poor. He managed to trace a link back to her, and she was arrested for fraud and theft. Since Jameson’s immune to the law, he wasn’t arrested or charged for any of his crimes. [Name] was going to testify in court after she got arrested, but knew that Jameson had more power than her and was doomed to be executed in her cell. She escaped one night with lady luck with a huge bounty on her head and FBI agents on her tail.” You nodded as Arthur's boss concluded his research statement as a sign of saying he's correct.

“What are her ties to Blue Intel?” Arthur asked, his tone monotonous. 

“None,” his boss admitted. “She was just caught in a mess with a man involved with Blue Intel.”

“I see.” Arthur thought for a moment. “So she provides no use to this mission.” That comment jarred you a little.

“That is not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about, Kirkland.” Arthur quirked an eyebrow at his boss. “That motel you mentioned she stayed at was ransacked. It's now flooded with FBI men.” 

You froze at his words; that meant the FBI were on your tail and were closing in, meaning that Jameson was not that far behind.

“So? What’s paramount about it?” Arthur asked. You and Arthur’s boss gaped at him for his question that seemed to hint he didn’t really care much about your well being. “We already know they want her, right? So, of course they’ll be looking for her.” Arthur paused to sigh. “I’ll just need a week, more or less, to solve this case.”

“What will happen to me?” you asked Arthur, a mixture of fear and anger laced in your voice. “What do you suggest I do?” you said with a little more anger.

“I suggest you should continue what you’ve always been doing,” the agent’s voice was icy and cold like an eye of a snake that’s about to strike. “Hiding.”

You were horrified. 

He...he wasn’t going to help you? 

Your eyes stung with tears as you tried to maintain a stoic expression; you knew he wasn’t trusting, yet you believed in him. You had to learn the hard way that the only person you can rely on is yourself. And if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying!

“Miss [Name]...” you heard the soft voice from Arthur’s boss.

You simply walked out passed Arthur planning to stay somewhere else in San Francisco.

 

\----------

 

Arthur turned back to the computer the TV after his boss let out a sigh. “Kirkland,” his boss mumbled. “I was thinking...”

“I didn’t know that you could.” Arthur replied bitterly.

“Very funny.” his boss growled in the same tone. “Kirkland, how many people have I assigned you within the past year?”

“Nine.”

“And how many times have you had a falling out with your partners?”

“Nine.”

“Do you see a reoccurring pattern here?”

Arthur let out a dry chuckle, “Haven’t you realized that teamwork is not my thing? Besides, I keep getting assigned with foolhardy naive agents.”

“Weren’t you a naive agent?”

“I was,” he admitted. “But now I’ve learnt not to trust others; they’ll just hold me back.”

“And that lesson justifies being disrespectful to a woman whose life is in danger?” his boss asked.

“Survival of the fittest is the law of nature: we deceive, or we are deceived. Thus, we flourish or perish. Nothing good ever happened to me when I trusted others. That is the lesson I learnt and that is the lesson she should learn.” Arthur argued calmly.

“Don’t scorn pity that is a gift of a gentle heart, Arthur.”

“I’m an agent, I’ve been trained to not show any mercy towards others.”

“For someone who boasts about his intelligence, you sure seem to be shortsighted on that statement since it only applies to targets.” His boss was starting to become frustrated.

“And for someone who criticizes the intelligence of one who worked for the agency, you sure seem to be shortsighted on how agents should only be concerned about those integral to the mission!” Arthur argued.

“Damn it, Kirkland! The world doesn’t revolve around you! You seem to forget that we use words such as compassion, loyalty, honor as a backbone of our agency, and since you are lacking one of these traits, your new mission is to protect [Name] [Last Name].”

“Are you cutting me loose?” Arthur growled. “This is a dangerous operation and I’m the only one capable enough to take on the job!” 

“This agency does not just exact justice, but it also serves to help people, all people; to prevent them from getting hurt. But your audacious behavior is putting other lives at risk.” 

After a small pause, Arthur muttered. “You expect me to sit idly by?” 

“You’re drifting out of touch, Arthur.”

“I will carry out the job you had sent me out to do!”

“No!” Arthur’s boss voice rose an octave. He took in a deep breath before he spoke again in a lower voice. “Kirkland, how many have paid the price for your impatience?” 

This question took Arthur by surprise and his boss knew it, but the both of them pretended that they didn’t notice. Arthur’s boss continued, “How many have died? How much damage have you done, and what is yet to come?”

Arthur didn’t speak for a while, and his boss took it as a sign to speak once more. “We function to help those in need when we see them struggling,” he spoke in a soft voice. “You’re new mission is to protect [Name]. And if the Blue Intel is all you care about, then I don’t see any other way you can investigate without her. She is key.” 

Arthur drew sighed through his nose. “Fine. I’ll take the case.”

Arthur was going over to turn off the computer, but his boss stopped him, “Kirkland, deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.” The screen went black.

Arthur proceeded to unhook the cables from the T.V. and turned off the laptop. He headed towards the door of the hotel room to track down his protectee.

 

\-----------

 

You decided to leave the area and go to another city; it’s best to not stay in one place for so long especially since Jameson and the FBI are not far behind. A pang in your heart caused you to remember what had happened a few hours ago. You felt hurt by Arthur’s harsh words but you decided that no one in this world is willing to help you. 

Why should you be hurt, though? You should’ve expected this.

 

But sometimes... the hunted wearies of distrust and longs for friendship.

 

As you were walking down the street in the dead of night, you heard a car come from behind and can see it’s headlights from the corner of your eyes. You heard the car slow to a stop, but you continued to keep walking out of caution. 

The car door opened and shut, “[Name]!” a British accent called out. You decided to ignore him and kept walking.

“[Name].” Arthur called out to you again. You continued to give him the cold shoulder. You don't need him, you were fine by yourself. In fact, because of him, you've gained some unwanted attention.

But Arthur wasn't having it and tugged your arm firmly to turn you around. You turned to shrug him off with a scowl on your face, but you faced him expectantly to hear what he has to say.

‘Hopefully an apology,’ you thought.

“I’ve been assigned to protect you,” he announced.

‘Oh, wow,’ you continued to scold him in your head. ‘Not even out of your own will. You were assigned to.’

You were about to walk off again but you begrudgingly decided against it. You had no other choice and he was your best option for protection, though you hated to admit it. But before you gave in, you said one thing to him. One thing that he must know.

 

“Kirkland, you redefine what it means to be an asshole.”

 

\-----------

 

Without a moment to lose, you found yourself being dragged across the streets of San Francisco. Sometimes, Arthur took sharp lefts and rights at high speeds just to make sure no one got wind of your whereabouts. When you arrived back at your hotel room it was close to evening, with the sun making the Golden Gate Bridge look more… 

Well, golden.

You settled your bag in your bedroom before you walked out into the shared living room. Plopping down on the couch, you took a deep breath. You needed to get all your thoughts sorted out and try to calm yourself down, but this situation and Arthur were not helping. Speak of the devil, Arthur just came out of his room to see you turn on the television to distract yourself.

And coincidentally, it was on the news.

“An unidentified man had murdered three top ex-officials just a few days ago, but now a photo has just been released to the press,” the reporter on the channel announced.

You and Arthur watched the TV with little interest, but the agent did a double-take. There was an image of a man’s silhouette which looked all too familiar to him. 

 

Angra.

 

Memories out of desultory started to flood his brain, those from recently or those from years ago. He started to remember random sights and emotions that don't seem to fit together: a reflection of himself, anger, a dark alley, a file of Blue Intel, a glint of green, laughter, a training program, and a shadowy figure. Arthur shook his head briefly, cutting off his thoughts. It's like a jigsaw puzzle all in one color. No key to where the pieces fit in. Why?

Even though Angra - or whatever his real name may be - was no longer a part of Arthur's mission, he still felt like he needed to get to the bottom of this to satisfy the strange, clawing feeling in his mind. The agent had a feeling he had seen Angra before. Met him, even knew him, but at the same time had no recollection. All he had was the information he remembered from the file. How do you know someone but at the same time you don't? Despite these vexing questions, he needs to put them off for now for he had a new mission.

“Who is he?” you asked after noticing Arthur’s concentrated face.

“Angra is an assassin, a secret kept from the public,” he answered. “I guess the government doesn’t want to scare the public about these dangerous tests that turned people into killing machines.”

“So like Jameson’s men.” you added with an acerbic tone.

“The witness protection program isn't so bad,” your protector suggested. “They'll give you a new name, and you'll have a new life.”

You turn to look at him with a vexed expression. “Arthur, do me a favor, okay? Don't play this big brother routine with me because it really insults my intelligence. The only thing important to you about me is getting back your ego and proving your boss wrong.”

You stormed off to your new bedroom and shut the door soundly behind you, leaving Arthur to feel angry and somewhat guilty.


	5. A Moment

You opened your eyes to see sunlight peeking through the off-white linen curtains of your hotel bedroom. You were in such a tranquil state since you had a nice night's rest for once. Not that you were complaining, but sometimes you did get uncomfortable from how the mattresses at the cheap motels you stayed in felt more like huge stone slabs. 

You rolled out of your comfortable bed, detangling your legs from the sheets and moved into a big bathroom. You decided to strip yourself of your clothes and took a nice, long, relaxing shower - the first blissful shower you had in a long time. 

When you were done cleansing yourself, you got out of the shower cabin smelling like lavender and dried your body and hair quickly. Your (h/c) locks ended with soft, subtle curls and felt smooth and slightly damp. Your body felt faintly warm after the shower due to the vapor, and your eyes were half lidded, giving into the peace you were experiencing. It ended soon when your stomach growled. You remembered that you didn't eat anything last night and decided that breakfast would be nice. It was a good thing that Arthur bought some of his own food for the hotel and allowed you to share. You walked out into the living room in a bathrobe that was a tad too small, completely forgetting that Arthur could be there. 

Your guardian was sitting on the couch watching TV and eating some cereal. The both of you made eye contact briefly before you broke it off and walked into the kitchen area. You hadn't talked to Arthur ever since last night after you roasted him, so it felt very awkward to be in his presence. Arthur rolled his eyes and resumed to watch the TV. But out of curiosity, he drifted his eyes back to you when you didn’t notice, watching what you were doing.

You still felt a little mad at him for using you to get answers about Blue Intel, and then completely dismissed you when you didn’t have anything. But overall, you thought you should get over it since you’re going to be stuck with him for a while. And it's best not to cry over spilled milk.

 

Milk...

 

Breakfast...

 

Shaking your head to put the thoughts aside, you got yourself a bowl and some cereal which you poured in. The fridge gave you some chills when you opened it which you brushed off and grasped the milk carton. It was very light, but you assumed there would be just enough for your breakfast. 

As you poured the milk in your bowl, the small amount that came out was quickly absorbed by the cereal grains. You kept tilting the carton until it was completely vertical and still no milk came out. You sighed and walked over to the kitchen counter where you sat on a stool and commenced eating your mostly dry, tasteless breakfast unhappily. 

‘I should be used to disappointment by now, anyway.’ you thought to yourself, but you always held on to hope.

Arthur took note of your glum expression and looked back at his finished cereal bowl. Suddenly feeling guilty for taking the rest of the milk, he felt as if he should do something...why? 

Maybe it was because he was your protector and felt obliged to feed you. Or maybe it's his habitual gentlemanly nature that surfaces, despite the somewhat austere or obstinate persona he takes on.

 

Yeah, that must be it. 

 

The agent walked over to where you sat. “Change into some clothes,” he said. “We’ll go out and get something to eat.”

You gazed up at him, somewhat shocked at his sudden gesture and then gave him a small smirk. “Are you in danger of becoming a good man, Agent Kirkland?”

“Ha.” Arthur mocked a laugh jokingly with a small smile, and sat back down on the sofa waiting for you to get ready for your outing.

\-----------

You realized you actually had a nice time with Arthur, and the two of you even learnt about some of each other's quirks. The conversation at first was off to a rough start with neither of you knowing where to start until the two of you gradually talked more and more. The sarcasm served as a catalyst. 

Arthur had treated you at a nice cafe and ordered a cup of jasmine green tea and biscuits whilst you had the nicest meal in a long time. You finally saw a more human side of Arthur, you guessed he was happy to see you eat something that was actually tasty.

“You Americans and your love of food.” He smiled seeing the corner of your eyes brimming with tears of joy as you happily took bites from three large, chocolate-chip pancakes. “I’d rather not have people eat like that, especially people I’m supposed to protect.”

You looked at him and opened your mouth to speak after you swallowed. “You're not protecting me. I’m more like a victim.” You had a smile on your face as you continued to joke with him, “Me being stuck with a horrible person like you.”

Arthur scoffed, trying to hide a small laugh. “And how are you the victim?”

“You want to deprive a starving girl what she wants to eat, that’s how. Quick question; as an agent are you licensed to starve your victims?”

“I am licensed to get rid of my targets by any means possible, love.” Arthur claimed as he sipped his hot beverage, trying to intimidate you. “Besides, aren’t I protecting you now by trying to prevent you from getting type two diabetes?”

“You heard me order this and made no move to stop me.”

“I didn’t think the food portions would be that large.”

You just giggled and shook your head. “I'm not going to discuss nutrition with a man who smokes cigarettes,” you playfully argued. “And by the way, I don't think you're as mean as you pretend to be. Why do you smoke? You know it's not good for you.”

 

“I don't think about it.” 

 

“Well, that's living in denial.”

 

“I'm aware of that.”

 

“That sounds kind of foolish. Don't you think, Arthur?”

 

“No,” Arthur answered. “Stealing fifteen million dollars from a guy like Morro Kevin Jameson sounds foolish.”

 

“I didn't think I'd get caught.” 

 

“Now that's living in denial.” Arthur quoted, using your logic against you.

 

“I'm aware of that,” you recited with a cheeky smile.

 

“Oh, so you're aware of your behavior but continue to do things that aren't good for you? Sounds sort of foolish, don't you think, [Name]?”

 

“It helped a lot of people,” you admitted. The conversation gained a more serious tone.

 

“So, you pissed off a mafioso killer just to be loved by a bunch of strangers. That makes a lot of sense.” Arthur commented. He internally cringed when he realized he had hit a nerve; even though you kept a passive face as you took more bites from your breakfast, he saw you wince slightly.

“[Name].” Arthur started as he put his cup down, he continued to speak in a lower voice. “You’re a smart girl, but why would you do something like steal from Jameson?” 

“There was a way out from me,” you replied before continuing to shovel more food in your mouth.

“How?”

You swallowed. “I was going to put all of Jameson's records on computer diskettes as an insurance policy. I figured I could always trade it over in exchange for my life if things got too rough.”

“But if you’d stay out of his business, none of this would happen.” your protector argued

Your small smile slowly disappearing until all that was a left was a sad expression. “I didn’t steal 15 million dollars,” you looked up to see Arthur staring at you with quizzical disbelief, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted. 

“It was my brother.” you finished.

After a pause, Arthur started up again. “But, why?”

You put your knife and fork down, threading your hands together and placed them under your chin. “My brother was reckless, but always did things for the betterment of other people,” you went on. “He was dealing with Jameson, and stole $15 million from him and donated it to the needy. Their dealings and conversations were all through computers or indirect messages, so the two of them never met face to face. But Jameson found a trace, though, and was close to sniffing out my brother. I told him to go back to our family while stayed behind and was arrested on the spot.” You looked down and took a breath before you resumed speaking. 

“Besides, I did help him out in stealing the money, but I always told him to go for the golden mean when it comes to anything, including charity: donate money to those who need it but don’t put yourself in a bad disposition either. As you can see, he didn't listen to me.” You shifted your eyes up to see Arthur with concern and some sign of sympathy written on his face. 

“You know the rest,” you concluded and resumed back to eating. After that pause, an awkward - but a significantly less awkward - silence enveloped you. 

Luckily, the blond managed to say something funny to lift your spirits, and soon the two of you were laughing and giggling like in the beginning of the conversation.

Despite the panic you are faced with constantly, you still managed to exude goodwill and cheer. Sometimes, it’s best to celebrate the fact one survived an encounter, rather than dwelling on their fear.


	6. Plot Thickens

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

 

The annoying sound of vibrations ricocheted around the bedroom in which Arthur Kirkland was sleeping in. It was probably the only time he ever looked peacef-

 

_Bzzzt._

 

Arthur's eyes were bleary for a moment before they focused on the ceiling. He rolled over and took the phone that was constantly buzzing in his hands to see that his boss was calling around three in the morning.

“What is it?” he answered, trying not to sound groggy in the slightest.

“It’s the FBI agents,” his boss reported. Arthur had a feeling he knew what this was about, so he changed into some jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and a dark blue button-up shirt he used as a jacket with inhuman speed while his boss talked. “Other MI6 agents, who were able to track some FBI memos, caught wind that they knew you were harboring [Name].” 

Arthur concealed the items he needed on his person before he went to your room and woke you from your dream. Making you face a nightmarish reality.

“You need to leave soon, Arthur. They’ll probably come over in a few minutes and there is a huge possibility that they secured the airport to prevent you two from leaving.”

“Don’t worry, we’re already leaving,” Arthur said as the two of you exited the apartment. You needed to leave a lot of your belongings behind such as extra clothes and whatnot. The only things you had now were some cash, Arthur's gun, and the clothes on your back.

“Arthur,” his boss uttered in a stern voice. “Get on a bus and head to Nevada. Your best chance is to leave the state.”

“A bus? Are you bloody mad?” he argued in a hushed tone.

“The mode of transportation is questionable, but it’ll be the last thing that will come to their minds; they’ll assume you plan on going in a terminal or on a plane. Plus, [Name] is not wanted in that state so it will be safer for her.”

Arthur hated to admit, but his boss was right...for once.

 

\------------

 

After a long search on the streets, and dodging into the shadows from almost any car driving by, you made it at the San Francisco’s Bus Station and stood by the ticket window to pay for your fare and hitch a ride. Unfortunately, the ticket clerk unexpectedly slides back the credit card back to Arthur. “I’m sorry sir, this card’s been canceled.”

“That’s impossible.” Arthur retorted. That was a special MI6 credit card so agents’ won't have to use their own that could get their personal information, let alone their banking information, leaked. Unless Alfred knew about this card ahead of time and hacked into the banking mainframe to render it useless. 

“I doubled checked it, sir. I’m sorry I can’t accept it.” the ticket clerk informed.

Arthur groaned in frustration; he didn’t have enough money which is apparent from his fruitless digging in his pockets. He suddenly turned to you. “Do you have any money?”

“Lots,” you replied. He digs into your pocket and pulls out a crumpled twenty dollar bill. 

“You call that a lot of money?” he growled with irritation.

“Hey, I’m not the one who can’t pay his credit card bills.” You gave him a sly smile and Arthur stared at you long and hard... 

He’d deal with you later. 

He turns and slaps the money on the counter. “Two tickets to Reno, Nevada.”

 

\-----------

 

A young man reclines back in his lawn chair. His dark brown hair was styled upward and was a mixture of a mohawk and a pompadour. His eyes were a light brown, almost olive and he was clad in an expensive robe. Despite his young age, he is a man with power and holds a title that runs shivers down most of the gangs around the country. 

Morro Kevin Jameson was sitting outside on his terrace of his large house. He was sipping his coffee and overlooking the city, the Nevadan desert, and beyond as the sun rose making the horizon glow a neon green against the desert dawn. He was lost in thought until his doorbell rang. 

He knew who’d be arriving at this hour.

Morro - who is usually addressed by his last name - got up from his seat, setting his drink down, and headed for his grand staircase. On the first floor of his penthouse, a bodyguard was opening the door whilst Jameson walked down the steps. 

The front door opened and reveal a tall man with light brown wavy hair that was parted to the left with a small ahoge that sprang up from the part. His eyes were olive-green with thick brows adorning them. He also sports a bandage on his right cheek. In fact, he always had a bandage on his right cheek. It even makes someone like Jameson wonder why, but he never cared to ask.

“What do you want, Jett?” Jameson asked in a not-too-friendly way. Jett was his attorney and a damn good one at that. 

“I think you and I should talk,” Jett said. His voice was laced with an Australian accent that he developed from his homeplace in Australia, specifically from River Hutt. “I heard somebody has [Name] in protective custody.” 

“Yeah, it’s old news. I’m on to it.”

“I don’t have to tell you what will happen if she becomes a government witness?”

“That won’t be the case.”

“I knew you were taking that position,” the attorney muttered. “I'm supposed to advise you against such acts.”

“Hey, Jett, why don’t you drink and sit down a bit,” Jameson patted his attorney’s back, then looks at his own wristwatch and smirks. “This thing will all be over in a couple of hours.”

 

\-----------

 

Arthur and you sat close to the back of the bus. There were no occupants seated there, so you had the small space to yourselves. For the first few hours, your protector was wide awake, whilst you were stirring in your sleep and finally woke up after the vehicle went over a few bumps. For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence.

Arthur watched you as you looked out of the window in a serene way. Though the setting was nothing beautiful in this dingy bus and desolate landscape, the way your tousled (h/c) locks rested on your back and shoulders and with your eyes gazing outside looking upon abandoned freight cars or random construction sites made the scene seem strangely angelic. Ever since the two of you ended your hostilities yesterday morning, you began to see the lighter side of each other. And strangely this caused a certain Brit to feel more appreciative of companionship, something he didn't have for a long time.

Arthur was going to look away to face the front of the bus until you turned to face towards him with that serene looking face, and morphing your lips into a toothy grin.

 

It was a wonderful smile.

 

Arthur smiled right back, before quickly looking at the front of the bus. He felt odd but at the same time comfortable. Complacent and yet perturbed for reasons he doesn't know. And that startled him. Was he perhaps becoming less bitter? He hopes yes and he hopes no.

 

Your smile faltered faintly, but you kept the grin up when Arthur looked away lost in thought. You scooted closer to your protector, wanting to at least be friendly with him. Thinking that you are going to be stuck with him for a while, you might as well be more friendly with him. Plus, you could use some fun.

“What’s up?” you asked cheerfully.

“Nothing,” Arthur muttered with a small smile. His tone was quiet and sure, yet it was evident from the way his brows furrowed that he was sort of out of place. 

Wanting to cheer him up, you decided to give him some advice. “Arthur, it might not be any of my business but you can't just avoid the things that come in life,” you lectured. “You've got to face them head on. Sooner or later you're going to have to take a "front row" approach to life.” 

He acknowledged your advice with a small grin before he turned to stare ahead of him again, a little more relaxed this time. Without his knowledge, you were starting to draw in his features. You got a better look at his face and drew your attention to his eyes. You remembered how they were emerald green when you first saw him, but with the sun infiltrating from the bus window on your side, the light reflected off of his iris giving it a lime green shade. The next thing you noticed were his thick eyebrows that added depth to his eyes.

 

The funny thing was that his eyebrows reminded you of your childhood. 

 

They resembled these black, furry caterpillars that were at your grandparents' former home (before they had moved closer to you and your parents). You used to see those furry caterpillars often in the old backyard, but you were terrified of getting near them ever since your elder cousins scared you into believing that they could climb into your ear and form a colony. The scary part is that they might have been right.

 

You glanced back at Arthur’s eyebrows again. ‘It’s so cool he has something that gives him character,’ you thought. ‘But if they aren’t eyebrows and start crawling towards my ear, I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.’ 

 

You shuffled slightly due to the uncomfortable thought and to not be obvious that you are staring at Arthur. You looked back to get lost in his distracted (and distracting) countenance again. He had a very nice jawline; smooth and stands out, but not too prominent. 

 

His bedhead, blond hair looked like a messy mop of spun gold. His emerald eyes reminded you of a forest bursting with life. His skin was light with a light gold-apricot undertone that gave him a look of warmth. You also noticed how his dark, button-up shirt’s sleeves were bunched up here and there due to his muscles and broad shoulders. Like you noted on your first encounter, he wasn’t very muscular, nor was he skinny, he was just perfect.....

 

'Perfect?' you thought. If you recall, this man didn't leave the best first impression on you. On top of that, he caused your early acquaintanceship to have more tension in it than a certain Ukrainian's bra straps.

 

However, you saw past that and realized you were just dealing with a sharp-tongued Englishman who actually had a soft side. You believed the correct term for a man like that is tsundere.

 

You glanced back at Arthur, who was still looking away, and only saw someone who just closed himself from the world, and yet unsatisfied to which you didn't know why. Maybe he isn't a great conversationalist, or maybe he's just shy and too stubborn to admit it. 

 

Despite his reason, you felt willing to get him to open up. You could tell that his feeling of monachopsis persisted under the strict and serious facade, along with any other "flaws" he shielded with his perfection.

 

 _'No, he isn't perfect,'_ you concluded softly smiling to yourself.

 

_'And that's what makes him human.'_

 

\-----------

 

Unbeknownst to anyone else, the exception being Jameson, there were five men hiding out near a bus station waiting for you and Arthur. 

Two were hiding inside a building, but still within shooting range. Another man laid flat on his stomach on top of a building where he held a position of being a sniper. He cocked his assault rifle and peered through the cross-hairs of his gun as if imagining the two of you were in his sights now. 

The last two of Jameson’s men were a very peculiar set of Italian men, sitting in a car far from the bus stop, to oversee the plan get laid out.

 

\-----------

 

The bus hisses to a stop in the middle of some dingy, busted up town on the outskirts of some city. The remaining passengers who were with them from San Francisco collected themselves and filed out of the car. 

“C’mon,” Arthur nudged [Name] and dusting himself off as he stood. “We need to get on another bus, it’s not safe to ride the same one for too long.” Even though it was next to impossible for Alfred to find out which bus station Arthur went to, let alone which bus he paid for in cash, Arthur still wanted to be on the safe side.

“Alright.” you complied, getting up from your seat.

The two of you were the last to step off from the bus until out of nowhere Federal cars swung up surrounding you. One of the cars was personally driven by none other than Alfred who slams on the brakes once it neared the crowd of vehicles. He steps out of his car and heads the pack of FBI men coming straight towards you. 

 

\-----------

 

All of Jameson’s men were taken by surprise, still hiding in their spots. The hitman on the roof looked away from the cross-hairs to watch in confusion. The two Italian men that were still in their car looked at the scene with their jaws dropped. The younger of the two was sitting in the passenger seat nervously, whilst the eldest clutched the steering wheel in shocked anger.

“Who the hell are these bastardos?!” The one named Lovino asked.

“Are they with us?” asked his younger brother, Feliciano, timidly. Lovino peered over the dashboard to get a closer look, and then he then spat out “It’s the fucking Feds.”

 

\-----------

 

Neither of you had time to react; Arthur was slammed against the side of the bus by one of the Federal agents whilst you were taken away from Arthur’s side by another man who roughly grabbed your wrists and put them behind your back, using his hands as manacles.

More Feds surround them, even some local cops appeared. Alfred appears in front of Arthur and puts on his sunglasses for dramatic effect. “You and I have a lot of talking to do,” he chided in a smug manner. He steps a little closer to the MI6 Agent with a childish grin, “Remember me?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Arthur tried to regain his composure, though his heavy breathing isn’t selling it. 

“You’re going to be locked up for a long time,” Alfred stretched out the second to last word with mirth in his speech. “I hope you realize how many years you'll need to serve for interfering with an FBI investigation?”

“Sure, Jones,” Arthur said still breathing heavy, but still wearing a smirk. The next thing he says causes Alfred’s lop-sided grin to drop. “How come no one’s after you for impersonating an FBI officer?”

“Front _row_ , Arthur!” you emphasized.

“And I remember you, dudette,” Alfred turns to you, regaining composure. “Associating with a heroin dealer, running away from jail, refusing to testify in a Federal court, and skipping out on bail. I hope you realize you’ll be taken in under our custody for your crime.”

“Hey, Jones.” Arthur addressed in a gruff tone, gaining the attention he wanted. “Aren’t you going to thank me for doing your job for you?”

Alfred smirked. “Thank you, Eyebrows.”

The sniper hiding on top of the roof finally fires a shot that was aimed towards you. Luckily he misses, letting the bullet hit the side of the bus. Alfred let out a small shout and wasted no time in swinging out his .45 as the sniper fired again which hits a local cop in the shoulder. Everyone shouts out different commands as people ran and took cover behind parked police cars and FBI vehicles. All armed officers pulled out their pieces and began to shoot towards the hitman. 

The hitman quickly adjusts his magazine and fired a rain of bullets to the people below. You and Arthur both hit the ground to take cover as the shooting continues. The glass from the windows of the bus shattered causing you two to cover your head with your hands to protect yourself from the shards. Two other of Jameson's hitmen, hiding out in a building, pulled out their guns and commenced in firing at the cops. Soon bullets whizzed all around you two as flies would around meat. 

 

\----------

 

Lovino and Feliciano watched as chaos unraveled in front of them, with unhinged jaws and wide eyes. Lovino slowly snapped out of it, realizing the situation he's in.

“Fuck this,” he spat and prepared to reverse. 

Feliciano agreed. “Yeah, hit it.”

The cursing Italian reversed aggressively before he stepped on the accelerator and swiftly turned the steering wheel to flee the scene. The car retreated towards the horizon as an Italian Army would if the English were approaching. 

 

The irony.

 

\---------

 

Amidst the crossfire, Arthur grabbed your wrist as you walked with your torsos bent over and took cover behind cars. An FBI agent saw you and nearly punched Arthur, but you got in the way, knocking his fist away and landed a hook-kick on his head. The agent fell over, and Arthur looked at you stunned.

“I took tae kwon do.” you clarified calmly, but still wore a scared expression.

Just then, more bullets rained down close to where you and Arthur were. You ducked down again and started to crawl behind more cars until you snuck into one. Arthur sees the keys that still dangled in the ignition. He ushers you inside and you climbed over into in the passenger’s seat. Your protector quickly slams the door, starts the car, and guns it away.

 

You, meanwhile, were near hysterics.

 

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Why? What was that? Why would they shoot at us like that?” you asked no one in particular.

 

“Those were Jameson’s men,” Arthur hissed as he shifted gears and began to drive aggressively. “He’s not even waiting for you to go to jail.”

 

As Arthur drove aggressively with expertise, you felt something bump against your shoe. You looked down to see two items that laid by your feet. You picked up a clipboard and a wallet that was on the floor of the passenger seat. You first opened up the wallet to find an FBI badge with a name.

 

“Alfred F. Jones?” for a moment, you forgot that you were fleeing from people trying to murder you. “Isn’t that the guy who you were being a wise-ass to?”

 

“Give me that.” Arthur snatched the opened wallet and looked over its contents as he drives skillfully with one hand on the wheel, and smirked a devilish smirk.

 

“Well, what do you know?” he smiled and pocket the wallet. “This is Alfred’s car.”

 

“Well, how did the FBI and those men know we were there?”

 

Arthur took the clipboard from your hands to read the papers attached to it. “Bollocks. They’ve got a wiretap on my boss’s phone.”

 

“All the way over there?”

 

“Americans are pretty much everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if there were some operatives at the embassy.” 

 

A helicopter could be heard roaring in the distance. Arthur steps on the gas and goes off the road, trying to lose the helicopter before it spots them.

 

“You know,” you started in a strangely casual manner, “we’re never going to get far in a stolen FBI car.”

 

“I’m working on it,” Arthur stressed.

 

The landscape was dessert like, but not completely devoid of greenery; Arthur roughly parked the car amidst the small trees in the area that could provide them some cover. As Arthur was about to get out of the car he placed his pair of sunglasses on the dashboard.

 

“What’d you do that for?”

 

Arthur turned to you with a smile despite the situation. “Just an inside joke between Jones and I.”

 

The two of you exited the car and you both ran out into the wilderness, trampling over rocks and snags of shrubbery, not knowing where you'll be swept off to. 

Leaving the men after you in the dust and adventure in front.


	7. Madness

Looking like shit, Arthur and you managed to hitchhike to a few small towns over where you trekked across the dry, cracked desert that stretched like a burning veil across the land. Luckily, there was a small shop in the distance so that meant there must be a town. The climate was somewhat merciful so you didn’t sweat... much, but your skin started to burn a little. Your clothes were crumpled, and dusty and your hair was starting to frizz out. The two of you also felt parched and a little hungry, but pushed on to keep moving.

 

You remembered that the stop you were getting off at before you were ambushed, was somewhere in Southern California, which explains why the FBI were on your tail still. Though you were close to the border, you were still ways away from Nevada.

 

You were just not having it today. 

 

And neither was Arthur. He was enraged that the Americans tapped into his boss’s phone, ruining their chance of escape and for the invasion of privacy. He started to rant about how Americans are too interfering, and halfway in you listened. 

 

“Let me describe the scene to you,” the blond Brit growled in seething anger. “There were these blokes, see? They've probably been up for two days, they stink of B.O., have coffee breath, and they're constipated and have hemorrhoids from sitting on their arses for so long!” 

 

You hummed in response as he wraps up his rant.

 

“But now they're going to have to pack up all their shit and go home, because I'm onto them! Those twats...” he trailed off. 

 

“C’mon, blondie, no need to dwell on the past.” You reasoned in efforts of calming him down. 

 

“Don’t call me that,” he said.

 

“Then what should I call you?” On second thought, teasing him would seem more fun.

 

“By my real name,” he stated.

 

“How ‘bout Artie?”

 

“No, you git.”

 

“Art?”

 

“No.”

 

“Art… Vandelay?”

 

“Enough with your nineties’ references.” 

 

“But it’s fun, mayuge~”

 

“What the bloody hell does mayuge mean?”

 

“I think it’s Japanese for eyebrows.”

 

“I’ll be damned if any of the nicknames you gave me is written on my epitaph!" You laughed in response and glanced at him with amusement twinkling in your eyes to see his eyebrows furrow and look ahead with determination. 

 

Arthur was never self-conscious of his looks, and if anyone ever made fun of his eyebrows he'd simply brush it off. But with you, you managed to crawl under his skin easily. Probably since you both endured each other's company for a long time. One thing is certain though; he'll never admit he found it amusing to have someone push his buttons like that nor would he admit that your laughter was soothing. It was then that realized just how lonely he was before.

 

Still smiling, your eyes went back to the horizon and noticed a small gas station coming closer with each step you take, meaning there must be a town up ahead. With a gentle smile, you asked: “So, what do we do now?”

 

Arthur looked back at you, wondering indeed what to do. You two are in quite a predicament: you are very low on cash, you don’t have anyone to contact, you are both on the run, and exhausted with your legs carrying you as far as you can go. At this right, you'll both be easy prey. Looking back at the few shabby buildings that started to spring up from the horizon of the American desert, he licked his dry lips. “We need to find a ride.”

 

\-----------

 

There was one problem. The town you just entered was like a ghost town. 

 

The length of the town must be at least half a mile long. There were run down, minuscule, vacant shops littered here and there. There were no streets, either - just the hard, arid, terracotta-colored ground that served as wide paths. You didn't see a single soul outside nor a single vehicle that Arthur could "borrow."

 

However, the town wasn't completely desolate as you originally thought. 

 

Not too far away, Lovino sits in his hidden car along with his brother. Whilst Lovino scans the street and occasionally ran a hand through his brown, shaggy hair, Feliciano sat in the passenger seat and happily munches on some pasta he managed to take with him. After the kerfuffle with the FBI, Jameson demanded that Lovino must find you soon or else...

 

It's best just to leave it at 'or else.' With a mobster like his boss, there's no telling what he could do out of anger or sinister amusement. Lovino's twin didn't receive the threat since everyone knew about his ineffectiveness; he was more of a sidler, but helpful at times.

 

And with a threat solely over his head, Lovino spent his time driving to different low-key towns for five hours to see if you were possibly in any.

 

Five.

 

Whole.

 

Hours.

 

But he didn't need to wait anymore when he spotted you and Arthur crossed the street, completely unaware of the car hidden in a dark and empty garage shop. Lovino addresses his brother to stay in the car (for he lacks a weapon) and gets out of his automobile silently with a gun in his coat. 

 

The eldest Italian brother follows the both of you with his aloof curl bouncing as he walked softly. Similar to how a lion stalks a pair of deer, he's on the hunt and after you by keeping a distance yet watching your every move - waiting to strike. He continues to stalk by taking some different routes around town keeping you and Arthur in his sights through the occasional alleys and wide roads. He came up silently behind you, up to the point that he's close enough to take out his gun, making it click and spoke in an icy voice, “Don't fucking move.”

 

You and Arthur turned around panic-stricken until all three of you heard a click from another gun.

 

As you watched the scene unfold in front of you, Lovino stood still in his spot refusing to turn around. Nervous beads of sweat formed on his forehead and rolled down the side of his face. He was scared to turn around, and you knew why. A man with silvery-white hair and eyes so pale that the absence of pigmentation gave him red eyes was right behind him. He wore a cocky smirk and held a .38 to your offender's head. 

 

“Drop it,” he commanded with a German accent. The Italian hesitated for a moment. “I said, drop it.”

 

The aggressive Italian reluctantly dropped his gun and turned to look at who was standing behind him, showing no fear.

 

“Vo the fuck are you?” asked the albino.

 

The defenseless man mimicked his question in response with more confidence, “Who the fuck are _you_?” Thus, an argument commenced. 

 

While those two quarreled, you leaned over to Arthur and whispered, “Is that albino an FBI agent?”

 

“No, he wouldn’t have come alone,” Arthur answered. The men’s argument grew increasingly hostile, as you both looked on. “I think he’s a bounty hunter,” Arthur added in a whisper.

 

You closed your eyes and groaned. “The FBI Agents, Jameson, and now bounty hunters. Is the whole world against me?”

 

“Well, that’s what happens when you steal $15 million and skipping a bail bill.” Arthur inferred, his breathing growing a little quicker. “C’mon,” he urged. The agent grabbed your wrist to break into a run whilst those armed men were distracted, but you were stopped. 

 

“Not. So. Fast.” A German accent rang out. Arthur paused as you pivoted on your heel to see the albino man had knocked out the Italian and pointed the gun at you two. Arthur had a better gun, but he couldn’t risk drawing it out now.

 

“The name’s Gilbert, und I vant to take the two of you guys to Carson City.”

 

'Carson City? That’s a city in Nevada - a safe zone. Where you needed to go!' you thought to yourself.

 

The both of you hesitated for a brief moment wondering what to do until Arthur, who was still holding onto your wrist, dragged you closer so he could whisper something in your ear. “He’s the only one in this God forsaken town with a car and is going to take us to Nevada, so play along.” You barely caught his words since you were startled by his warm breath fanning your cheek, waiting for you to answer. You muttered a very quiet okay before he turned away and faced Gilbert. 

 

“Alright, we’ll come with you.”

 

The German, or rather self-proclaimed Prussian, smirked. Gilbert walked in front of you guys to lead you to his car that he parked behind the battered gas station, chattering away how "awesome" he is. You followed Gilbert and Arthur trailed behind you. However, before Arthur could go past the unconscious Italian, he stopped and noticed a small piece of paper on the floor next to him. Curious, the spy picked it up the parchment which read Jameson’s Industries in a fancy font.

 

Underneath those words was the passed out man’s name, Lovino Vargas. He assumed so considering that the name was Italian and it matched his accent. There was also his phone number that was listed on the business card.

 

"Arthur, hurry up!" you shouted. The Brit swiftly pocketed the business card into his breast pocket, thinking that it might have some value later on, and headed to where you and Gilbert were waiting. 

 

\------------

 

Dust clouds formed in wisps behind the vehicle as it sped down a vacant wide road; it was the only thing noticeable in the barren landscape aside from the occasional plateaus in the distance. The three of you were squashed up in front of the vehicle. Gilbert had some strange car from the seventies in which everyone can sit in the front. He also had a lot of his belongings all over the backseats which explained why Arthur was sandwiched between the bounty and the bounty hunter. 

 

“Vo vere zoze guys? Zey didn’t look like bounty hunters.” Gilbert commented after a long moment of silence.

 

“Those were hired killers,” Arthur answered.

 

“Hired to kill vo?”

 

“Hired to kill her.”

 

“Hired by vo?”

 

“Morro Kevin Jameson.”

 

“Oh, fuck! Vy do zey vant to kill her?”

 

“Don’t you do any research on your bounty?” Arthur asked slightly annoyed.

 

“Ugh, I can’t take this,” you groaned loudly. It’s not like every day you have someone out there who everyone wants to kill you or lock you up.

 

Speak of the devil and he shall come. An ebony helicopter began to follow Gilbert’s car. Its blades cut the air ominously as if they were spinning swords ready to serve what they have been built for. The doors of the helicopter opened to reveal three men hiding behind firearms. M-16s open fired and blew out the back window of the automobile. The sound of gunpowder and splintering glass startled all of you greatly and instantly ducked until the shooting had stopped.

 

“The fuck is zat?!” Gilbert exclaimed, his voice sounding very high pitched.

 

“Jameson’s men,” Arthur muttered; it's obvious enough that the FBI wouldn’t shoot at them. “We’re sitting ducks.”

 

The three sharpshooters in the helicopter leaned out and commenced open firing once again. Gilbert's car approaches a narrow, concrete bridge that spans a huge gorge with roaring rapids below. As the helicopter crept up on you three from behind, an eighteen-wheel tractor trailer hidden from all of your views was approaching from the other side. 

 

Gibert was just about to enter the bridge all the while swerving and ducking bullets. Arthur sees the oncoming truck just in time. “Look out!”

 

Gilbert cuts the wheel and misses the truck by a few feet. The chopper, who also didn’t see the vehicle, misses by inches. It roars skyward and the truck nearly crashes to get out of the way. 

 

Meanwhile, Gilbert had swerved off of the road, just short of the bridge. He slams the car through the guard railing causing his retro vehicle to sail down the steep embankment. As he tries to gain control, he skids across huge rocks and trees with its sides. 

 

Nature wasn’t working in your favor since the brush and rocks in its path don't slow the car down. You yelped in terror as you felt the car jump up a few feet still going downwards whilst Arthur braces for the impact. Gilbert steers down the obstacle course of rocks and trees heading for the rapids.

 

“Okay. Okay. I'fe got it.” Gilbert assured his passengers as he jerks the steering wheel. He sideswipes a tree, and the vehicle keeps going.

 

“Hang in. Ach! Relax. I'fe got it.” Gilbert mentioned once again.

 

Chunks of giant rocks were up ahead as Gilbert maintained control. Finally, the car slams to a halt, wedging itself between two boulders, just a few meters from the edge of the rapids. All of you took in a deep breath of relief. The deafening roar of the chopper could be heard as it swung around over the top of the bridge.

 

You noticed that Gilbert's gun bounced to the floor during the insane chase, and out of irrational fear and want for escapism you grabbed it.

 

“Nobody move.” you threatened in a low voice and aimed the gun towards Gilbert hoping that you will intimidate him in letting you go. Arthur, who clearly knew you had no idea of what you were doing, snatched the gun out of your hand.

 

“Give me that,” he said.

 

Gilbert grabs the gun from Arthur, “Zat's mine.”

 

The chopper roared overhead snapping you all back to reality. The shooters fired causing bullets to ricochet around you. The doors are blocked by the boulders, so Arthur, you, and Gilbert are forced to crawl out through the windows and quickly dive for cover: Arthur going through your side and Gilbert on his own. The chopper formed circles in the sky until it moves in for the kill. The sharpshooters take aim and fired once more causing more bullets to bounce around.

 

“You alright?” Arthur asked. For some reason, you began to smile.

 

“Yeah,” you said. “Seems like they won’t leave us alone.”

 

“You’re on your own; they're not after me.” Arthur corrected causing your smile to vanish.

 

“Just kidding, love.” he winked as you rolled your eyes in response.

 

The two of you climbed behind a group of boulders and Arthur pulls out his own weapon and returned firing at the chopper. More bullets fired from the M-16s, causing Gilbert to flinch and hide behind some other boulder which the snipers didn’t bother to shoot at. It seems that the men in chopper are solely focused on you and Arthur who kept firing.

 

One of Arthur's bullets has hit the glass bubble of the aircraft, exploding it into the cockpit. The pilot swings the chopper away until it comes around for the kill again. You tried to hide behind a huge boulder as the bullets practically explode all around you. The both of you inched around the boulder, trying to keep it between you and the chopper with the steepness of the terrain making it difficult. A serious game of cat and mouse. 

 

The sharpshooters above had fired again, this time you weren't so lucky. A bullet had grazed the side of your arm causing you to leap back out of recoil and lose your footing. You fell backwards into the rapids and disappeared into the white-water. Arthur was about to jump in after you, but a hail of bullets forces him to stay put.

 

“Gilbert!” Arthur called out to him. Gilbert peeked from the boulder he was hiding behind. “Help her!” he ordered him.

 

“Nein, I’m not doing it!”

 

“What?” Arthur asked incredulously. “Do you want your bounty to drown?” he tried to sway him.

 

“I zaid, I’m not doing it because zis is the “damsel in distress” trope, und I’m not about to contribute to it!”

 

‘What the hell is he talking about?!’ Arthur thought.

 

“Look, while I agree that trope is horrible, in this particular situation,” Arthur paused, trying to dodge the bullets behind the boulder. “I need you to do this - we’re running out of time!”

 

“Nein,” Gilbert denied once again. “It’d be against my moral compass.”

 

“Your fucking moral compass is a roulette wheel!” Arthur yelled.

 

More bullets fired causing Gilbert to hightail it out of the gorge. Arthur curses as he ran out of bullets and ejected the empty clip. He's stuck behind the boulder and has no way of getting to you. However, he finally notices a weak spot in the chopper: the tail rotor. The MI6 Agent pulls out another clip and jams it into his gun. Arthur moves along the bank ducking behind boulders until he gained a good solid line on the tail rotor. 

 

He crouches, raises his arm, sights in, then fires.

 

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! SMACK!

 

The sting of metal hitting metal was music to Arthur’s ears, but it didn’t satisfy him as much as the percussions resonating from the tail rotor.

 

The sudden shock and detonation caused the joystick to slip from the pilot's hands. With a deafening high-pitched whine, the chopper swings madly out of control. Gilbert, who was watching from ways away, dropped jaw. 

 

Arthur grins sadistically as he watches the chopper fly up back into the sky in efforts to maintain control, but starts its deadly descent towards the wall of the gorge. It heads straight for the crag and explodes into a fireball of gushing flames for a hundred yards.

 

After viewing the damaged he caused, Arthur quickly dove into the rapids to rescue you.

 

You were further downstream trying to swim, and grabbing for debris lodged between rocks. The unsurvivable rapids were just ahead. Holding onto the log for dear life, you pull yourself along. With patience and finesse, you inched towards a boulder, safety barely tangible. Arthur comes bouncing down the rapids on the same path that you had just taken. He sees you pulling yourself to safety with a fallen tree branch. Arthur reaches out as he passes to grab for the same debris, but accidentally slams into it, causing all of it to dislodge. You and Arthur were going with the current down the rapids together, clinging to the same log. 

 

“Goddamnit, we were almost safe!” you grumbled.

 

You were riding the rapids with a log, using it as a life line. A group of boulders was up ahead. Water rushes between you with your back against the current, and Arthur on the other side of the log. The rapids beyond invite death.

 

There was nothing you could do now. You both held your breath a braced for what was about to come. 

 

The last thing you both saw was the rough waters dragging you down.


	8. Stars and Old Photographs

Weightless.

 

That's what he's feeling right now even though he was standing.

 

Arthur had no idea where he is, nor did he care. He was simply existing. White light bathed around him as he stood and looked onward with a gentle curiosity in his eyes. Shadowy humanoid figures walked past him, mumbling incoherently with a respectable silence and paying no attention to the green-eyed spy - the only figure of color in the monochrome setting. 

 

The figures disappeared into the whiteness that surrounds him as Arthur starts to see strange visions play before him. There was no sound, just scenes of his memories in vivid colors. Some were about his old mission days. People he had worked along with, some of those people who were no longer in this world. But most of his visions were a sequence of recent events and thoughts about you.

 

He started to regain his self-awareness and no longer felt like he was floating. He finally registered that he was standing in an empty, bright white room, the pristine brilliance hurting his eyes. 

 

“Arthur,” a low male voice called out to him. 

 

The agent's gaze slowly focused on his boss standing before him as he spoke. “When you reach the top, don’t forget about the others who fought alongside you on the way there. Maybe they weren’t as strong, as clever, or as brave as you, but they still gave everything for what they believed in.”

 

Arthur shut his eyes for a moment due to the intensity of the brightness. All of the sudden he felt weightless again. He opened his eyes and could see he was underwater looking up at the sky. He was floating peacefully - not feeling threatened, not feeling wet, not drowning. Just floating. Submerged and suspended by the deep azures, not too far from the sun-speckled surface.

 

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Arthur tilted his head to the side to see a haunting silhouette of a familiar man before it disappeared. The same silhouette from the Blue Intel file, the same shadow from his vague flashbacks. Strangely, it didn't feel threatening, but rather eerie and distant. Like a repressed memory. Another echoing voice brought him back to focus as he looked at the sky through the watery ceiling. This time it sounded lighter.

 

“Can you hear me, Arthur?” the voice asked gently, its words turning more pronounced as it penetrated through the waters and reached the agent's ears. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from nor who was saying it, but it sounded familiar.

 

“You almost didn’t make it,” He finally realized the disembodied voice was coming from you. 

 

“He died,” you said suddenly. “Actually, he was dead from the beginning.” Arthur didn't see it but felt a pair of hands grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and bringing him to the surface.

 

“Just like you, Arthur.”

 

Everything faded to white.

 

\-------------

 

Arthur awoke this time, his back lying on a straw mat and is greeted with a wondrous sight. A blanket of sky stretched over him, giving off sparkles of glittering magic soars that hung in the darkness. He slowly moves his head to one side and sees the few items that you two carried were either hung up to dry or laying on the table next to the clothesline. 

 

He turns his head to the other side. There was a campfire close by, and you were fast asleep; curled up like a cat on a bed of straw with some cloth draped over your figure which had prints of strange geometric shapes and animals.

 

A voice rasped out, “His eyes found a man who has given himself to the river. Who let the flow of the river carry him away.”

 

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows slowly to scope who was speaking and spotted an old Indian chief sitting cross-legged in front of him holding a pile of sand, letting the grains create waterfalls between the spaces of his fingers and piling neatly back to the earth. With no other words exchanged, he understood this man had saved the two of you.

 

“Thank you,” Arthur responded in a soft voice.

 

“I am known as Iron Cloud,” said the chief. “My granddaughter saw you two washed up on the banks of our river that cuts into the canyons of our ancestors. We brought you to our settlement, or rather what’s left of it.”

 

Arthur sat up. “I thought we were dead,” he speculated.

 

“It wasn't your time,” Iron Cloud examined Arthur with eyes carrying perhaps centuries of wisdom. “But do not fear death. Death is always at our side. When we show fear, it jumps at us faster than light. But, if we do not show fear, it casts its eye upon us gently and then guides us into infinity.”

 

Arthur gave a weak smile to his savior and looked around once more, studying the lonely landscape of old cars and shacks. He deduced that the pair of you were on an Indian Reservation. In their native language, a few children sitting far off were having a good laugh at the expense of Arthur’s bedraggled appearance and does his best to ignore them. He moved his head upwards, back up at the stars.

 

It was early evening now, and the few stars that struggled feebly in the sky, sparked against the background of the misty, wispy clouds.

 

“Life is a constellation of possibilities.” Iron Cloud declared, reading Arthur. “Something in your past haunts you?”

 

“It’s an old story,” Arthur said quickly, allowing a small pause to follow.

 

“There are ends we don't desire, but they're inevitable. We have to face them. It's what being human is all about.” With that, the last remains of sand that were once in the Indian Chief's hand had collected to the floor. He got up quietly and left the spy alone in his thoughts.

 

Arthur just eyed the stars that shone beautifully. They are so far away, and their light takes so long to reach us. He wondered about an old friend he used to know. He kept staring at the stars. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his early days as an agent. 

 

All we ever see of stars are their old photographs.

 

. . .

 

_Arthur was taught very quickly and learnt with alacrity within the MI6 training program. He became the cream of the crop in his team which was considered to be the best squadron at the time. But soon, he was assigned with a partner: Antonio Carriedo._

__

_The duo hated each other at first before it dissolved into friendship, especially after a few Monty Python jokes regarding the Spanish Inquisition._

__

_It started when Arthur and Antonio were on a small mission in Spain with the Brit running from a group of henchmen, speeding through small streets that led to the outskirts of the busy market. As the blond continued to run, he managed to lose sight of them and halts when Antonio aggressively pulls up in a Black Jaguar._

__

_“Why were you running?” Antonio asked bluntly._

__

_“What do you think?” Arthur sneered._

__

_“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking, amigo.” Antonio continued to mess with Arthur, evident from the sly grin._

__

_“Look, I’m in a hurry right now. I wasn’t expecting an inquisition.”_

__

_“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Antonio said obnoxiously. Arthur tried to glare daggers at him, but when it comes to his favourite British comedy, he couldn’t help but smile a bit._

__

_However, his grin was short lived._

__

_As Antonio continued to quote Monty Python, Arthur noticed some of the thugs spotted him from afar. Arthur demanded that Antonio should let him in his car, but he obnoxiously insists reciting the skit from heart. “...Our three weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. Our four-- No! Wait...amongst our weapons... amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fear, surprise-- I’ll come back again don’t worry.”_

__

_Antonio suddenly drives off leaving Arthur in the dust._

__

_“Hey, wait a minute!” Arthur yelled as he chases the car. Antonio eased off of the accelerator and let Arthur in his car who was muttering curses under his breath. The Spaniard quickly drove off leaving behind a few winded thugs who couldn’t do anything but glare as the two spies got farther and farther away. Antonio was laughing boisterously in the car, and Arthur who was furious not a second ago also joined in on the laughter._

__

_From that idiotic moment, a camaraderie formed and Arthur finally had a friend on whom he can rely on._

__

. . .

__

_But one day, Antonio was sent to leave on a special mission and never came back and was on the missing list. Arthur felt saddened but didn’t drown in depression. He carried on with his life and mission still wondering what happened to his old rival and friend._

__

_But his demeanor changed on that fateful day. . ._

__

. . .

__

_Arthur had to complete yet another assignment this time with another agent that he barely knew but was more than qualified to accompany him. As the two of them walked down a dark alley, a shot rang out. Arthur turns around in alarm only to see his partner standing still for a moment before his white shirt blossomed red. As the lethal, mahogany flower bloomed from his chest, Arthur's partner fell to his knees letting his lifeless body fell to the floor with a thud. But what was behind him was more haunting: another man in the shadows._

__

_The silhouette somewhat resembled Arthur: it adorned shaggy, tousled hair and was tall and slightly built, but what was most prominent was one of the killer's dark green eyes that gleamed in the darkness. Out of learned behavior, the Brit charged at the haunting figure and drew out his gun with inhuman speed, but his opponent was too fast and shot Arthur on the chest._

__

_“GAH!”_

__

_Arthur fell over and clutched his wound which was just above his heart. He tried not to display any physical sign of agony by clenching his teeth together. His head looks up back at the place where the man was standing, but he had vanished into the night._

__

_It wasn’t until after he disappeared Arthur thought that the man of the shadows seemed all too familiar. A sudden panic gripped him even though there was no danger in the alley. His eyes dilated and his throat became dry. He felt himself grow hot and cold as his body break out in cold sweat, mixing in with warm blood pouring out of his chest. He regained composure after he heard police sirens drawing near, still looking at the same spot of where the mysterious man stood. . ._

. . .

 

Due to this haunting memory, Arthur realized that it wasn’t the man in the alley that scared him. It was the reflection he saw in him. He saw everything in him that Arthur was: a man of shadows, a man with no identity, a man who won’t hesitate to kill. 

 

He saw how violent lives ended violently, how only strangers leave behind roses, and how humans are savage by nature no matter how much you try to dress it up, to disguise it. 

 

Ever since then, he became bitter towards other people and to himself. Using his over inflated ego to dress up his inner turmoil. But that only caused other people to be hurt by his actions, which he was too stubborn to admit until now. How he survived so misguided is a mystery. 

 

Thinking about this caused his scar to ache. It’s ironic, after all of the trauma he went through it’s a measly scar that has the most effect on him. 

 

Arthur’s eyes flew open and realized a piece of a puzzle that was missing in this whole Blue Intel affair:

 

 _"Assassination Skills Enhancement Experiment:_  
Clinical Trial Sample: Subject No. 46:  
Codename: Angra:  
A marked regression of the mind occurring during enhancement development process: Experiment canceled:  
Sample permanently retained at quarantine facility."

 

He noticed whenever that name was mentioned, his scar on his chest would ache faintly or he'd have a flashback back in the alley, but it never crossed his mind until now. He was piecing the information together by first remembering a discussion he had with his boss:

 

_“We’ve tried to research Angra, but we couldn’t find out anything about his past. However, we’ve found out that some files in our database were destroyed around the same time when members of the ISSP was conducting their experiment.”_

_“So there is some speculation that he was a part of MI6?”_

 

He remembered asking that question.

 

He knew that Antonio’s disappearance happened shortly before the Assassination Skills Experiment kicked off and was quickly canceled.

 

The Brit feared the worse. If someone like Antonio was experimented on, there’s no telling what he could do. He’d be a robot, killing with no remorse; a real psychotic killer. 

 

“Mmn...” you tossed around in your bed or rather lack thereof in your sleep, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. He smiled at your sleeping form, feeling at peace with himself. His previous thoughts were a problem for another day; he has more important things to worry about.

 

Though you were close to the fire and had a blanket, it wasn’t warm enough for you. You subconsciously curled up more and furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance. Feeling pity, Arthur moved over to your side and lay beside you, making a mental note in his head to move elsewhere when you were close to waking up. He used his arm to pull you closer to him sharing his warmth. You automatically relaxed in his arms.

 

 _'I was younger then,'_ Arthur thought to himself as he stared at you. _' I wasn't afraid of anything. I didn't think about dying for a second. I thought I was invincible.'_

 

_'But then I met this girl. I wanted to live, I started to think like that. I had never felt like that before.'_

 

_'And for the first time, I was afraid of death.'_

 

\------------

 

You couldn’t get over how strange Arthur was being, ever since you woke up you noticed how he wouldn't talk much and seemed troubled. You spent the majority of the day helping out the Native Americans, learning about their culture, and even played with the young kids there by performing cheap magic tricks you learnt growing up. 

 

Currently, you were sitting on a rock and noticed the haze of versatile, desert shrubbery and occasional purple flowers that spread over the terracotta earth, heightening the aesthetics of the scenery. You were eating some beef jerky that the Cheif's shy granddaughter served you, gnawing on it like how your mind was gnawing on its thoughts. You never had beef jerky before, all you knew is that it was invented by Native Americans long ago.

 

To your surprise, it tasted really good! The next thing you knew, you were scarfing down the little scraps of meat you had. When you finished your plate, you moved over to a little pump they had, still savoring the taste of the jerky, and started to fill a bucket with water.

 

You were a part of a large family, but you had a small immediate family. You were a bit of a troublemaker growing up, and so was your brother. For example, your mother found that you were able to foil any lock you encountered at the age of six. She despaired of trying to hide sweets in the house, as it became plain that no matter how complex or expensive the pantry lock was, you could best it within minutes. Eventually, she gave up on hiding the cookie jar and just let you have it, not that she minded much.

 

Meanwhile, your brother would like to hack into things - something you couldn’t do since you weren’t compatible with technology - and displayed an early aptitude for coding. He was a very righteous too and believed that people were meant to work and sweat for their money. Those who live at expense of others - all get divine retribution along the way. That was the lesson. But, one thing about humans is that they quickly forget the lesson they have learnt which he wanted to fix. And this attitude caused the two of you to get targeted by Jameson. 

 

You grabbed a towel and dipped it into the bucket full of water and proceeded to clean your face, the back of your neck, and your arms with the wet cloth. All the while, still thinking. 

 

You didn’t regret it. Not one bit. And to be honest, you were having fun on this trip. Especially since it’s with someone. Before you met Arthur, you were alone for a while and hated it. But now with company, your life became a lot more tolerable.

 

Or maybe because it’s Arthur, life seemed brighter to you.

 

You finally admit it: you were attracted to Brit. He was adventurous, smart, cynical, and of course good-looking. And quite frankly, you were starting to fall for him. You were put under the spell of his snide remarks, his rare laughter, his mannerisms, his golden hair that glows in the sunlight and darkens to a brown shade at night. His jaded eyes that are stormy and dark when he’s upset, that light up when he was smiling, or distant when he’s lost in thought. His crooked grin gave you butterflies in your stomach too; the curl of his lips resembled a crescent moon at midnight. You were falling - had already fallen - for all of him, even his “flaws.”

 

But for now, it’s best to remain friends. 

 

You smiled at that thought and put away the bucket and towel and decided to find Arthur. You straightened out your back and noticed the setting sun, leaving it’s fading footprints in the sky.

 

\------------

 

It’s evening again as it was yesterday, with you and Arthur overlooked the canyons from a plateau sitting by a small pond or rather a large puddle. The air carried nature's music of chirping crickets and the almost silent sound of water lapping around the edges of its earthy container whenever a gentle breeze brushed over the small body of water.

 

The misty earth below the plateau resembled a large bowl with the way the canyons had cut into the earth. The moon was thick and shone more brightly than the stars, drowning, paling, and thinning them out. The sky turned a deep navy and the stars came out like a giant conglomeration of fireflies caught in mid-motion and stilled forever.

 

You were sitting in comfortable silence, but the only thing that was bugging you was how Arthur has been strangely quiet the whole day.

 

Arthur couldn’t describe what he was feeling exactly. Perhaps it was disappointment? Damn, even he didn’t want to admit what he was feeling. It was childish to feel disappointed, but childishness comes almost as naturally to a man as to a child.

 

The shallow pond in front of painted a replica of the heavens above with its smooth surface. Feeling the need to unwind, you took off your shoes and socks to place your feet in the water and dabbed at the surface of the water with one foot, and the moon fluttered like silver wings before settling again as the water stilled. Letting out a faint, content sigh, you dabbed again and again. However often you disturbed the surface, the water went back to its natural state.

 

“You're not acting like yourself,” you said casually. “What's bothering you?”

 

Arthur didn't give you a response, he just broke his emerald eyes away from your (e/c) gaze. You held back a sigh and said, “Why not talk about it?”

 

Arthur looked away, thoughts of morality were tearing him up inside.

 

“Come on, man, talk to me,” you pressed gently.

 

Still no answer.

 

“Talk.”

 

“I just feel haunted by my past.” He said quickly, wanting to satisfy your request at the same time give a short answer that doesn't reveal much. His eyes went back to the stars.

 

You followed his gaze and responded, “But when you think about it, isn't that something that really doesn't matter?”

 

Arthur chuckled half-heartedly, “You can say that since you probably had a happy, peaceful past overall.”

 

“No matter the past, you still have a future,” you smiled and flipped Arthur a silver coin which he caught smoothly with one hand.

 

“What's this?”

 

“All that's left of our money.”

 

“Twenty-five cents?!”

 

As you laughed at Arthur's bewildered and priceless (well, twenty-five cents) expression and relieved the tension, the chief's granddaughter, sitting not too far away, was plucking corn from a cob into a bowl while her grandfather was frying fish caught from the river over a campfire. 

 

“The stars look a lot more prominent today,” the young girl wondered out loud. Usually, the moon’s light causes the starlight to disappear, but the glowing sky overall looked like it was teeming in many numbers more than ever before.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the meaning behind the stars?” Iron Cloud asked. 

 

Before his granddaughter gave him an answer he spoke. “They all tell different stories as they form different shapes. But recently the stars are trying to symbolize hope.” He settles his eyes on you and Arthur still sitting at the edge of the cliff unaware of his words. 

 

“But why?” the young girl asked out of childish curiosity.

 

“There are some people who need it right now.” the Native American man smiled at the young couple in front of him. Perhaps, they’ll find hope in each other. 

 

\-----------

 

Before noon, you and Arthur decided to set out on your journey once more, not wanting to cause these peaceful people any trouble. You stood by the dusty road as a dilapidated pickup truck snakes towards you. An American Indian, with a black ponytail and black cowboy hat, is at the wheel. Two others were crammed in the front seat and four more sit on the bed of the truck. As much as you wanted to stay and live a peaceful life at the reservation, you knew you must continue the journey with Arthur.

 

The truck stopped right in front of you. “How's it goin', gentlemen? Do you think you can give me and my friend a ride to the nearest town?” you asked the man at the wheel.

 

“Sure. Pile in.” He agreed with a low voice. The other Native Americans jumped out of the truck to perform their daily duties. Some stayed behind with Iron Cloud and his shy granddaughter to see you off. 

 

You stepped in the truck, with Arthur climbing in behind you. He turned to look at the wise elder one last time before nodding and hopped in the truck with you, to be dropped off at the nearest town.

 

Life was indeed a constellation of possibilities.


	9. Fierce Chase

It was a pleasant quiet, thirty-minute drive through the American desert with Arthur and your Native American guide. You didn't exchange any word with either party, until your driver, one of Iron Cloud's tribal members, slowed to a stop signaling your depart. The two of you said your short, but grateful goodbyes to him as you got out of the car. You stood by the road and waved to your driver as he took off down the road, towards the reservation and out of sight. 

 

After you were dropped off at the nearest town, the pair of you eyed the area you were in. The town was surrounded on all sides by tall land formations, far in the distance. The town seemed like it belonged in a Clint Eastwood western; however, there were a few contemporary buildings of your time plotted here and there. 

 

There was a very small convenience store, meaning that the two of you could stock up on supplies. But realization struck Arthur. “We don’t have enough money,” he recalled as the two of you gazed longingly towards the small store.

 

You pondered for a moment and surveyed the town, or lack thereof, around you until your eyes landed on a tavern not too far away causing a light bulb suddenly to spark in your head. 

 

“I can take care of that,” a mischievous smile playing on your lips. You grabbed Arthur’s calloused hand and walked off onto a dusty path. Your guardian was very suspicious as to what you were up to, but he had no choice but to follow along. He looked down at how you were holding his hand and dragging him in tow which made him feel comfortable for reasons he can't explain. 

 

He ceased walking when you abruptly stopped and let go of his hand to point to the bar you spotted. Very confused, Arthur looks at the bar, then back at you. “Right. Now what?”

 

“Give me that FBI badge,” you ordered. Arthur hesitates. He still carried Alfred's FBI badge that he swiped, back during the bus station shootout, when he hijacked the American's car to escape capture. But since your motives were unknown to him, he was reluctant in handing it over.

 

You rolled your eyes and sighed at Arthur's hesitance, “Look, do you want to eat that shit you eat or not?” 

 

Arthur studies you for a moment, ignoring how you referred to his country’s scones. “If you mess with me…” he began.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you'll hit me in the head and drop me in a thing…” you jested morbidly.

 

He handed you the badge which you gladly took with a mischievous gleam in your eyes, leaving Arthur on edge. You suddenly started to smoothen out your hair, making sure that you seemed trying to look presentable for some reason. You patted your legs to get the dust off of your jeans and randomly asked if you can wear Arthur's jacket. 

 

Arthur looked dubious but complied, and lent you his black denim jacket. You muttered thanks as you wore it, straightening the collar, smoothing out the creases, and stuffed your hands and the FBI badge into its pockets before you finally headed towards the tavern. Arthur followed warily behind you.

 

The tavern was quite empty: the owners don't get many folks around here anyway due to the desolate town and landscape. But while the few people inside were doing their daily routine, you had practically burst in the front door followed by Arthur and made your way to the cashier, gaining the attention of the few people inside the otherwise vacant bar. 

 

With a stern face, you went up to the clerk who stood behind the cashier with question lingering in his eyes. You spoke with urgency. “I want to speak to the manager immediately.”

 

Taken aback, the clerk nodded, “Alright, just a minute, ma'am.” 

As he calls over the manager, you locked eyes with Arthur who still had no clue what you were up to which made you feel smug for being this clever. The manager, who strongly resembled a lumberjack, had shuffled his way towards the counter where he faced you, “May I help you?”

 

“Agent Jones, FBI,” you announced, skillfully covering the picture and first name of the ID with your fingers. You flashed the badge quickly letting the sun catch the gold insignia before putting it away. “My partner and I have been tracking a ring of counterfeiters who have been passing phony twenty-dollar bills throughout the state. Have you received any hundred-dollar bills in the last couple of hours?”

 

Arthur then started to realize that this was a money-making scheme: by impersonating a Federal officer, you can pretend that you were taking the money for evidence when you actually "borrowed" it to stock up on items and perhaps something to eat. But in order to do so, you are required to do some convincing acting.

 

“I received one just twenty minutes ago.” The manager admitted.

 

You slammed your fist down on the counter with a smile and turned to Arthur who was behind you. In turn, he gave you a glare. Specifically, a this-is-stupid look which you ignored.

 

You turned to the cashier, “Would you mind opening the register, please.” The manager gives a nod of approval, and the cashier complies.

 

“Let me see all of them,” you ordered in a professional but kind manner. The cashier reaches for the bills, but you stopped her.

 

“No, no! Don't touch them.” You signaled Arthur to go around the counter and take the bills out.

 

Arthur, who learnt from the cashier’s mistake, uses a paper napkin to take the bills from the cash register. You cleared the counter and proceeded to lay the bills out methodically. The employees of the bar look on attentively.

 

You snapped your fingers startling everyone, including Arthur, “Give me that pencil.” The cashier reaches into his breast pocket and hands over his wooden No. 2 pencil to you whilst you slide the bills and pencil over to Arthur.

 

“Check all of these,” you told him. Arthur got the gist of what to do by playing along and doing a series of "tests" on the bills: erasing, holding bills up to the light, and occasionally making eye contact with you.

 

“You’re doing the litmus configuration?” you asked your "partner." However, Arthur didn’t catch on and was still erasing the dollar bill lightly. You repeated the question but slightly louder.

 

“Yes, the litmus configuration,” Arthur repeated, though it sounded more like a question. He hesitantly licked the tip of his index finger and smeared his slightly damp fingertip onto the paper bill.

 

“How are we doing?” you asked sounding professional.

 

“Um,” Arthur hesitated, this was finally their chance. “This one's faulty.” You smiled knowingly at Arthur as he puts the twenty dollar bill aside. The manager eyeballs their attire.

 

“You guys look like you've been through the ringer,” the manager commented.

 

“You don't know the half of it,” Arthur admitted, knowing all too well what you have been through. He glances at you once more gesturing to another twenty dollar bill. “This one's bad, too.”

 

You spoke with great urgency again. “I want you to describe, exactly, what the person who handed you this bill looked like.”

 

“It was a man. About thirty. Tall.” The cashier answered, feeling giddy about how something exciting is finally happening in this town.

 

“Oh yeah? About six feet tall?” you questioned, adding on to the inquiry and trying to sound like a professional.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Blond hair?”

 

The cashier shook his head, “Brown.”

 

You smiled and nodded trying to cover up your slip up with confidence, “Sounds like our man.” Arthur just stared at you wondering to himself that you probably lived for this long just by smooth-talking your way out of things. You, on the other hand, were trying to not laugh.

 

“I want you to call all the other restaurants in the area and advise them of the situation,” you told the manager and turned to face Arthur. “If we move fast we might be able to nail him.” 

 

You grabbed the two twenty-dollar bills, “We have to take this for evidence. Make sure they get a receipt for this.”

 

Arthur scribbled a bogus receipt on a scratch pad next to the register then hands it to the manager.

 

“We'll be back. Thank you for your cooperation.” Arthur said. You smiled proudly at Arthur and for yourself, before giving a curt nod to the manager who mimicked your movement. Arthur had came around the counter and started to walk next to you as you both strain to maintain your poise. You had exited the bar, hurried across the street and into the nearby convenience store.

 

\----------

 

Never before has a convenience store been so convenient. You never pictured yourself as a shopper, nor did Arthur ever imagine himself being so gleeful when it came to grocery shopping. But nevertheless, you were in the middle of a shopping spree. Arthur stocked up on sandwiches and scotch whilst you went for the fruit, vegetables, water, and new clothes for the two of you. The store even had a decent, clean, small bathroom with a shower which both of you took quick turns to use without their notice. 

 

You had paid for your goods, changed into your new clothes that looked similar to your old ones, and exited the building feeling rich as Creosus. In the midst of walking down a street, you ripped into the bags like hungry dogs, wolfing down some food. 

 

“A litmus configuration?” Arthur quoted.

 

“I wanted to sound professional,” you claimed, your voice somewhat muffled from a small loaf of bread you were eating.

 

“I think you got too into character.”

 

“How else were we supposed to get the money to buy this stuff, you had a better idea?”

 

“I’ll admit that was pretty clever.” His statement caused you to smile cheekily.

 

“Yeah, but I feel bad that we stole from them.”

 

“Well, their neck isn’t on the line.”

 

There was a ringing of a railroad crossing, down the street. A freight train blows its whistle as it rumbles through the center of town at forty miles per hour. Judging from the placement of the sun in the sky and the time of day, Arthur deduced that the train was heading west towards Nevada. This time, a light bulb went off in his head.

 

“Come on. We're catching this train.” Arthur shoves you in the direction of the train, carrying your bags of food.

 

“I can't do this,” you grumbled.

 

“C'mon, [Name]. With tramps like us, we were born to run!” Your protector said excitedly as the two of you neared the train and ran alongside an open boxcar.

 

You tossed your bag inside and hoisted yourself aboard. Arthur tossed his bag in as well but starts to lose his footing as the train picked up its speed and was struggling to keep up. 

 

“Arthur!” you shouted as you reached out your arm for him to grab. 

 

With the rush of adrenaline that dilated his blood vessels, Arthur's pulse had raised supplying extra oxygen to his body which in turn gave his legs enough power to lunge himself inside the boxcar. You had grabbed onto his forearm and pulled to prevent him from slipping, using all of your strength to load him onto the train. 

The green-eyed Brit propped himself on his hands and knees to sit up after getting on; the both of you leaned against either side of the boxcar with labored exhales and a little bit of breathy laughter.

 

\----------

 

Unfortunately, the manager at the bar had watched through his window, with a perplexed look, as you "FBI agents" ran for the freight train. Somewhat confused and suspicious, he turns towards the counter, picks up a telephone and dials. Pressing only three numbers.

 

\----------

 

The train moves through the American desert. The sun is just peeking over distant mountains and the landscape is bathed in a deep red hue. Arthur is crouched in the open doorway and smoking, looking at the sun and flicks his cigarette butt into the wind. He turns and notices that you are setting up his breakfast. You tore open the paper bag to use it as a placemat. He watches you lay out fruit, a box of high-fiber cereal, and a quart of nonfat milk. 

 

“Would you care to have breakfast with me?” you asked, your voice sounding like bells. 

 

Arthur kindly took a red juicy fruit that you were offering from your hand and took a bite out of it. You couldn’t help but see the way his eyes slightly fluttered closed as he then opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue and latching onto the apple, his Adam's apple slightly bobbing. You blushed faintly and set your eyes elsewhere out of embarrassment. 

 

As Arthur munches, he let his thoughts consume him and wondered about your life. He had already heard of your childhood over the many conversations you had with him under his protection, but he never knew what you planned to do in the future. 

 

“Hey, [Name]?” he received your attention. “When this is over, what will you do?”

 

Strangely, your heart dropped at this question. You had always looked forward to that moment: to leave behind Jameson, to be free of the FBI, to see your family again. But when this is all over, Arthur will probably leave you behind, and to be quite frank you were going to miss him. 

 

It’s probably for the best. But knowing you, you didn't always want the best. Your intellect had come up against your emotions, silencing your thoughts. You took in a deep breath and exhaled, “I’ll just go home to my family. They’re probably worried sick.” 

 

Arthur saw you smile small as you reminiscence memories on your old life, but notices there was a hint of sadness. You turned your head to look at him, “What will you do?” 

 

“Go on another mission,” Arthur mused. He predicted that you were going to ask him what it would be like and answered before you could ask. “Usually, I act as a burglar: collect information and such. But sometimes I do end up taking life away from others.” 

 

“Where have I heard that before.” You muttered as you thought of Jameson causing Arthur to glare at you.

 

“You know, I'm tired of people like you making me out to be some kind of thug whose only concern is my pride!” You were shocked, Arthur never yelled at you unless it was in desperate situations. You didn’t mean to make him feel like that! Sometimes, you really hated yourself for being so blunt.

 

“So please, don’t you dare compare me to a self-centered heartless bastard like him!” It wasn’t until after his outburst, Arthur regretted what he’d done. 

 

He didn’t know what came over him; he found it very upsetting when you had compared him to your hunter. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. Hell, he’d rather be compared to some annoying Frenchman, but not him. Not the one who would hurt you. 

 

The agent remembered the last three words he shouted and realized that he himself acted like a ‘self-centered heartless bastard’ when he had first met you. He looked up to see your face staring down at the old floorboards of the boxcar, stricken with slight fear mixed with glumness and regret. You wished you could go back in time and prevent yourself from offending Arthur. 

 

You weren't trying to condescend him in any way. You were just thinking bitterly of that one man, and that probably led Arthur to think you were talking about him. You didn't know whether you'll make it worse by explaining yourself or not, so you kept quiet.

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized in a soft voice breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to yell like that.” You just shrugged it off and Arthur sat closer to you hesitantly. 

 

“I just,” The poor man was having a tough time explaining himself. Maybe he should confess, “Do you think I'm a good person?”

 

The question took both of you off guard. Arthur had slipped up but was slightly relieved that he did whilst you stared at him with a concerned yet patient look. 

 

“It's just-- I don't know,” Arthur was getting frustrated with himself by his inability to form a damn sentence. He tried again. 

 

“I think that...that all of us like to believe that in a moral emergency, we will behave like the heroes we grew up with. Bravely and forthrightly,” he started. “But, I ...”

 

This time Arthur took in a deep breath with his nose and huffed, looking outside the boxcar as you sat with an understanding look, silently and gently pressing him on. It was then he realized, that he can't always put these feeling of the past behind him like the fleeting landscape before him. He can no longer turn a blind eye to all the suffering and hardship that he witnessed nor to the conflict within himself. He had always been carrying this moral weight, and he predicted that he may continue to do so for as long as he lives, as much as he doesn't want to.

 

But it was best if he just told you, just to lighten the load. Hoping that you'll listen. “A few years back, I was with a partner - not someone I knew well. But anyway, we were ambushed by this mysterious figure. After he killed my partner in the alley and tried to kill me with a bullet, I wasn't scared of dying nor of the killer, but what I was scared of was that I saw my own reflection. I saw how I'm like him. 

 

A faceless killer, hunting the blood of others because I chose this path. After that, I didn't know what happened. I had a moral split within myself. I had no other direction, and I pushed others away out of anger. So... I just felt...I don't really know how I bloody feel.”

 

You decided this was time for you to jump in, “If you're even questioning what you're doing is right or not, makes you a moral person. The truth is many good men experience moral ambiguity like you. Your job is different than a lot of people and it requires sacrifice. But you help people, too, despite the sad souvenirs that came with it.”

 

“But--”

 

“But nothing,” you interrupted. “Do you know why I think you're not afraid to die? Because you're more afraid of living.”

 

Arthur flitted his eyes to the floor to avoid contact; knowing that was exactly the reason. Each day he stays alive is just one more day he might slip letting his hidden emotions peek out, another day of burying the hidden guilt he refuses to acknowledge. Arthur is a private man, but a man with many faces. And after hiding himself away with pride to cover up any sign of turmoil, he became insecure as well. It was hot, stupid insecurity: not knowing what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.

 

“It must feel very conflicting,” you continued. “But I bet you had helped a lot more people than harmed. More than you know. Even if you did small things for them, you've made a difference. You've helped me in many ways, and that means a lot. Trust me.”

 

Arthur was taken aback by your genuine statement, but out of his tsundere tendency, he covered up his surprise by talking once more. “I just don’t want to be compared with a man like Jameson. A man who wants to harm... you,” he admitted. In turn, you smiled brightly at his testimony and had already forgiven him for his compassion. 

 

“So shines a good deed in this weary world,” you beamed and handed him a packaged cake that he could eat. He takes it with a small smile feeling a lot better, feeling the weight was lifted by quite a lot. You poured in some milk in your small cereal box and started to eat its contents with a plastic spoon.

 

“I want to ask you something,” you broke the silence after a few bites from your breakfast.

 

“Does it concern my handsomeness?” Arthur teased, fiddling with the plastic concealing the small cake.

 

“No.” You deadpanned, almost failing at restraining a chuckle, before continuing. “Did you ever wish to settle down?”

 

Arthur paused for a moment, he never really thought about his future like that before. You took his silence as an opportunity to ask another question. “Do you ever get lonely? Do you have any family? Friends?” Arthur stayed silent. He has been feeling lonely, but only after you showed up. Paradoxically, your presence made him realize just how lonely he was and how he's too stubborn to admit it.

 

Still too stubborn. 

 

Arthur decided to give you a vague answer, “I don’t think too much about my old life. I want this one.” When he said those words, the amount of sincerity in his tone was overwhelming and you didn't know what he meant by that, yet the answer had somehow fulfilled your curiosity and you went back to eating. The silence resumed again, only a little less awkward than before.

 

“So,” you started with a smirk slowly appearing on your lips. “No girls?”

 

Arthur just rolled his eyes at you as he drank the remaining milk from its carton. You smiled and decided to tease him more, “I bet girls would really like you. Maybe the boys would, too.” Arthur was trying to restrain a chuckle as he started to unwrap his packaged cake. “How about the animals, huh? There were some good looking chickens back at that Indian reservation.”

 

“Yeah, there might have been a couple I would have taken a shot at,” he replied jokingly causing the two of you to laugh heartily. You felt giddy that you had once again steered the conversation train on a different, light-hearted track.

 

For hours, you and Arthur had a variety of discussions and anecdotes filled with mirth and laughter, along with some playful teasing. You never felt happier. Everything about this setting seemed perfect; sitting in an empty boxcar with a few bales of hay, the canyon-like scenery going by adding to the rustic theme, the late breakfast you were consuming which tasted more delicious due to hunger, and just appreciating one another’s company. 

 

Finally, it was a moment of rest. A moment of bliss.

 

After a few hours, the two of you finished all of your food and were done talking. Your tongues were tired and ran out of things to say, so you sat there in silence glancing wistfully at the fleeting landscape and appreciated being in the presence of each other's company. Arthur had suddenly got up when he detected a subtle and gradual decrease of the train's speed. He peeked his head out of the boxcar to see if there was an upcoming station ahead, but he got a suspicious feeling. 

 

“We're getting off here. Just in case.” Arthur stood up and helped you on your feet. You clung onto him since the movement caused you to lose your balance. You both waddled to the edge of the boxcar, Arthur had a sly smile creeping up on his face. 

 

“Ladies first.” Arthur gestured towards the open door.

 

“What?! Are you insane?!” you panicked, thinking that you were going to get off at the station. Arthur pushes you off the moving boxcar and follows you down. Endless containers thundering past the both of you as you tumbled through the high grass and rolled to a stop. You sat up and immediately punched your protector's arm repeatedly, trying to hide your smile while Arthur just laughed. You copied him and ended up laughing like madmen in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to gain and nothing to lose.

 

“You’re cruel, you know that?” you said in between laughs.

 

\-----------

 

At the nearest train station, the stationary train had it’s doors is swung open hard. A series of boxcars were being opened, one after another. Federal agents and cops are all over the train in greater numbers than ever before. Alfred's car pulls up. He gets out. approaches a Police Captain.

 

“Find anything?” he asked.

 

“Not yet.” replied the captain.

 

Though that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, it was expected. He walks away with determination with his men trailing behind. “There just about a hundred miles from Nevada. We need to stop them soon, or else they'll be in Jameson's territory.”

 

\-----------

 

The giddiness had died down a bit as you and Arthur marched to another nearby convenience store that he saw in the distance with his piercing green eyes. He suspected that a car must be near the convenience store; they were close to a train station, they were close to civilization. Thus had a higher chance of having people near the area with some mode of transportation. 

 

His intuition gave him a stroke of good luck as he spotted a parked Jeep. You quickly picked the lock of the driver's door within seconds, then pressed a button to unlock the rest. Arthur sat in the driver’s seat where proceeds to hotwire the vehicle. The engine cranks and fires, purring to life. You got in from the passenger side and waited for Arthur to start the car. 

 

“Now strap yourself in, [Name]. Because like any given night with me, you’re in for a rough ride~” Arthur smirked. He had no idea where those words had come from, but your shocked expression was priceless.

 

“Oh, real mature, Kirkland.” you muttered, hiding your face after your cheeks flared pink.

 

As Arthur roars away, the owner of the Jeep exits the store. His jaw drops as his Jeep passes him and tears off down the road.

 

“Sorry!” you shouted, feeling bad for the poor guy. Arthur had tooled down the road, the country unfolded in great sweeps of tall grass and occasional trees that dotted the terrain.

 

It wasn't even five minutes later that a police car comes up behind you two and hits its lights. The noise of the siren and the sight of the speeding car was all too familiar to you, yet you still felt your blood run cold. You had way too many police chases in your lifetime.

 

“Shit!” Arthur cursed and stepped on the gas. A second police car is moving like a bat out of hell from the opposite direction with its sirens wailing and lights blazing.

 

“Huh, deja vu.” your voice laced with so much sarcasm it ought to put Arthur to shame. “They're not going to be happy until they get us both killed!” you exclaimed as he swerved a bit.

 

“I came too far. I'm too close.” Arthur was not about to jeopardize this mission and he’s not going to lose you.

 

A cop car ahead skids to a stop, blocking the road. The Jeep Arthur stole screams off the pavement. Driving onto the shoulder causing clods of earth to kick up. Arthur scrapes the cop car that came from the opposite direction and moves right back onto the road. The car chasing Arthur tries the same trick, but doesn't make it and crashes into the police car blocking the road.

 

Everyone at the train station must’ve heard that there was a vehicle just stolen close by and all ran to their cars, assuming it was the MI6 agent’s doing. Arthur has pressed the pedal to the floor and moved more and more into the country - dirt roads cross the plains.

 

“How many cops can they have in this town?” You wondered out loud in annoyance and fear.

 

Arthur checks the rearview mirror and sees more than a dozen police and Federal cars are behind them. You noticed several police cars roaring down the dirt road on their right. Arthur turns and realizes at least a dozen more are on his left. They seem to be coming from everywhere. The cop cars from the right and left sides converge onto Arthur’s road. The two dented cop cars from behind came up fast in pursuit. It's a carnival of sirens and blazing lights.

 

The both of spot the worst sight yet: a slew of Federal cars coming at him from ahead. To simply put it, you were surrounded; there's no way he's getting around this.

 

Arthur turns the wheel hard. The Jeep skids off the road, smashes through fence posts, rips into the field causing it to jump a small hill, lands roughly and kept going. The cops and Feds swerve off the road in pursuit.

 

To add to the chase, there was another car that followed the men in blue, but the person who was driving wasn’t remotely involved in the policing business. 

 

It was Lovino.

 

He slows, as his car passes the spot where the Jeep crashed through the fence. The place is crawling with Cops and Feds. Cautious not to be observed, he keeps moving.

 

Meanwhile, Arthur shifts the car into four-wheel-drive and slams up a hill, missing trees and rocks. The cop cars can't keep up and helicopter roars overhead.

 

Alfred is also involved with the pursuit. He sits alongside the pilot in the chopper, looking down at the terrain with binoculars. Below, the fields are filled with the tangle of police and Federal cars and a group of farmhouses clustered below.

 

Lovino follows the chopper with his eyes as it heads for the group of hills. The chopper obviously has an overview so Lovino decides to follow it. He makes a turn onto a dirt road, roaring past the group of farmhouses, and occasionally slows to check the position of the helicopter, then keeps moving.

 

Coming down a hill, Arthur realizes he's not going to make it. He loses control of the Jeep causing it to skid, slamming sideways into a group of trees. Arthur climbs out immediately and dragged you in tow. You two literally started running for the hills. You could hear chopper humming nearby as you and Arthur drop into the high grass. The chopper moves past you, back towards the hill.

 

Alfred, with eagle eyes, spots something. “I see the Jeep!” he announced. “It’s in the brush. Try going to the farmhouses, they might be hiding out there.”

 

The pilot acknowledged Alfred's command and made the chopper move toward the farmhouses, all according to Arthur’s plan. The green-eyed Brit dragged you to move through the high grass to a thicket of trees on the roadside and hid behind the foliage, his eyes blending in with the leaves. 

 

Two Federal cars roared past the road followed by two local cop cars. Arthur’s eyes sweep the road for any more cars until his gaze landed on one; a passenger car with one person at the wheel. With nowhere to run, Arthur runs into the road and jerks one arm violently up and down a couple of times, flagging down the car out of desperation - he needed to get out of here fast by any opportunity that’s given to him. However, you recognized the driver before him.

 

“Arthur! Don't! It's Jameson’s man!”

 

Lovino couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked and saw the MI6 agent waving at him. That is until you shouted something, and see Arthur quickly registering what you had said, and reaches into his jacket that shielded his gun. Lovino's lips curled into a sinister smirk and started to speed down the road. Arthur realized his mistake and tried to pull the gun out of his shoulder holster, but reacted too late. 

 

Lovino had opened his car door while he was still driving and whacks Arthur in the stomach. The stiff thump of the door, like a powerful fist, knocked the air out of him and sent him onto the concrete. He had hit his head against the road. Hard. A dizzying feeling came over him as he tried to focus on what was going on.

 

You immediately ran over to Arthur's side, knelt down, and cradled his head gently with your hands trying to calm yourself down. His eyebrows furrowed in pain and his lips formed a tight line as he tries to lift his back off of the ground. But couldn't. You heard the familiar click of a gun and looked up to see Lovino towering you with an irritated look, holding his weapon to your head. 

 

“You better get up and get into my car, or I'll put a bullet through you and your boyfriend.” You turned away and looked at Arthur, mentally pleading him to get up yet knowing that this is it. Lovino clicked his tongue and roughly yanked you off of the road.

 

Quickly, Lovino opens the passenger door, shoves you inside, then slams the door closed. A sudden anger washed over you, but your judgment rose against it; the Italian henchman had the upper-hand. Instead, you looked out of the passenger window, feeling your eyes sting with tears and made sure none of them slipped. You've never felt so useless. You've never felt so angry at yourself for getting Arthur hurt. But all you can do is hope that he'll be okay. 

 

And acknowledge the fact that you will have to come to terms with your fate. 

 

Lovino had already started his car and sneered at you, “Alright. Time to meet the Boss.” He tore down the road, with the vehicle kicking up the dust behind him. You looked at the side-view mirror with worry as Arthur was slowly coming around; winded and bruised.

 

The tires can be heard screeching away. Arthur, with great difficulty, rolls onto his stomach and uses his hands to push himself up and fails. He could taste the flavor of iron in his mouth as some blood started to coat his tongue, a small injury compared to the pain in the rest of the body. The fast speed and hard impact of the car took a heavy toll on Arthur as he tried rolling onto his feet, losing more and more of his strength. The continuous roar of the chopper seems to fade away. He slowly closes his eyes, letting darkness consume him.


	10. Rumble!

The thing about getting knocked unconscious in a deadly situation, causes one to ironically observe their surroundings. Sometimes one's eyes would focus on a small pebble on the ground, thinking that that might be the last thing they see. However, when Arthur awoke he expected to see that same piece of gravel on the ground staring back at him. 

 

Instead, he opened his eyes and realized he was lying on something soft, yet he felt the pain of his body slowly coming back to him. In his lethargic and aching state, he felt rather reluctant to sit up on the sofa he was resting on. But he ignored his body’s protests and observes the room to find out he was in a hallway of an office of some sort. Many people were bustling by either in police uniforms or suits, paying no mind to him except with a few occasional glances. 

 

He swallowed his saliva to moisten his dry mouth and looked to his side to notice a familiar pair of sunglasses were on the counter. He just stares at them for a moment before he picks them up, remembering how he left it in Alfred’s now-battered-up car to mock him. Speaking of, the sound of footsteps approached the spy, and Arthur didn't need to look to know who it was. He turned anyway to meet the sharp blue-eyed American.

 

“I've been looking all over for these,” Arthur joked and gestured towards the sunglasses, disguising his discombobulated state, confused as to why he was here and how. His head _did_ land on the concrete violently.

 

But Alfred saw through the false expression. “You passed out,” he said with a grin and sat in one of the office chairs close to the MI6 agent. “We saw you lying on the road and picked you up. What? Did you expect to be in an interrogation room?”

 

“For a second, yeah, I kind of did.” the Englishman said, but he quickly remembered something important and became alarmed, as a sudden rush of urgency waved over his mind. “Where’s [Name]?”

 

Alfred's grin disappeared and sighed. “I’m sorry, but she's in Jameson's hands now.”

 

\-----------

 

You were uncomfortably sitting in the passenger’s seat while Lovino drove. He turned into an airport where a small jet was waiting for him and got out of his seat to roughly grab your arm.

 

“Where are you taking me?” you asked.

 

Lovino smiled evilly, “Las Vegas.”

 

“Las Vegas? Why?” Arthur’s goal was to get the two of you into Nevada. It was the only place you weren't wanted, the only place where you can rest easy and put the past behind you.

 

“Because that’s where Jameson lives,” Lovino stopped walking to look down at you with a sneer, seeing how your eyes were widened in disbelief and how your lips were slightly parted in shock. “Oh, you didn't know that did you. I don't blame ya, no one did. Why else do you think Feds have so little power there?”

 

So it was a setup. You couldn't believe it, either way, your life would've ended at the gallows. You'll never see your family again, nor the sun, clouds, stars. It was a sick feeling that sunk in your stomach, weighing down on you like an anchor, as Lovino continued walking dragging you in tow with a muzzle pressed against your spine. 

 

A powerful rush of anger consumed you, you felt hatred boil in your veins. You wanted to shout, kick, punch, probably cut that stupid curl bobbing on Lovino's head. Crush his masculinity somehow. Make him feel small, scared. Make him feel like the whole world is against him with your wrathful divinity. If you were going to die, it wouldn't be in front of Jameson. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction. You were willing to take a bullet to the chest just to have your last moments outside, in your freedom.

 

But you didn't. You just couldn't. These were intangible thoughts, not actions and that made all the difference to who had the most power in this scenario. Lovino must have felt you tense up your arm and drilled the muzzle of his gun into your back to silence any ideas and urging you to get on the plane.

 

You lifted your eyes to the heavens one last time to see how the sky was broken by cloud. Each footstep felt like an ominous countdown, and much to your disliking you were already boarding the plane, conscious of your fleeting time here.

 

Lovino pushed you onto one of the jet's leather seats and handcuffed you. He pulled out a newspaper seemingly out of nowhere and forces you to hold up the paper. “Hold that up. So they'll know that I took these today. 'I'm incompetent' my ass. Say "cheese."” Lovino pulled out his phone to snap a picture of you holding the newspaper and makes today’s date as legible as he can.

 

“Don't do this,” you pleaded with scorn and disappointment.

 

“Don’t worry, ragazza, we’ll be landing soon. Enjoy the fresh air while you can.” he cruelly chuckled at your situation. All you could do is hope that Arthur will come for you.

 

For the first time in your life, you admitted that you needed help. 

 

Lovino interrupted your thoughts. “Even if you did escape the Feds, you thought that you were going to be free as a bird over there. Well, you're wrong! You're a fly caught in the spider web, ragazza. You always were.”

 

\-----------

 

The squad room at the police station was crowded with cops and Feds. Arthur is on the hot seat smoking a cigarette. Alfred sits opposite him, reprimanding the spy for his irrational behavior that led to the loss of a Federal witness. However, Arthur coolly reclined in his seat despite the yells.

 

“I know my rights. You owe me some phone calls.” Arthur stated casually.

 

“What you should be owing, right now, is the years you're going to serve for interfering with a Federal investigation, not to mention impersonating a Federal officer.” Though he'll never admit that he had quite a lot of fun during this adventure, Alfred still planned on sticking to the rule books.

 

“Like I said before, how come no one's after you?” Arthur retorted, quoting himself from that time he was caught at the bus stop.

 

Alfred, slightly offended, rolled his eyes. “You don't know when to quit.”

 

“I know one thing,” Arthur said irritably. “I know the rights of this country. And by law, you owe me phone calls. I am not saying jack-shit until I get them.” 

 

Alfred sighed and gives in. “Give him his calls,” he addressed his colleagues before he and the other officers walked away.

 

Arthur swiveled in the office chair to see the wired telephone resting on the desk in front of him. The green-eyed agent thinks for a moment before he pulls out the slip of paper that Lovino had dropped a few days ago. The card was stained from the adventure in the rapids causing the numbers on it to be faded, but it was still there. Arthur turns in his seat to reach for the telephone and dials the number. It's a million-to-one shot to get you back. But with you, he’s willing to take any risk. 

 

Someone had answered and picked up on the other end. “Uh, who is it?” asks a timid, high-pitch, Italian voice.

 

Arthur is confused since it didn’t sound like Lovino at all. But then again, he only met Lovino and not his younger brother. “It’s Arthur Kirkland, the guy you sent the chopper after.” 

 

There was a pause on the phone line. Arthur heard some mumbling and shuffling until he heard the phone get handed to another person. “Hey, too late bastardo!”

 

Arthur's eyes widen as he recognizes the voice.“No, too late for you! I didn't come this far for nothing, and I want the girl back.”

 

“So what the fuck are you telling me for?”

 

“What am I telling you for?” Arthur racked his brain quickly trying to find something he could use against him. He quickly remembered the time you ate at a cafe, back when he thought you stole $15 million, not your brother: 

 

_‘You’re a smart girl, but why would you do something like steal from Jameson?’_

_‘There was a way out for me.’_

 

That’s when Arthur remembered and hatched a plan.

 

“Because I have some of the girl’s belongings, that's why. Including some computer disks that have every last detail of Jameson's businesses and money-laundering operations, and if I don't get her back in the next two hours I'm going to turn them over to the Feds.”

 

“I'll blow your fuckin' brains out!”

 

“How are you going to do that from jail?” Arthur knew that Lovino fell for his lie when he didn't answer.

 

“You tell Jameson, I want to meet him with [Name] alone in two hours, in the main terminal of McCarran Airport, where we'll make the exchange. I know he's the only one of you guys who won't try to take a shot at me in a public place. If I see one single goon within a mile of that airport, the deal's off and I'm going to the Feds.”

 

“I'm not gonna tell him that.”

 

“Fine. After he's busted I'll make sure to tell him you knew about it beforehand.” He had a strong feeling his plan was going to work, it just needed to fall into place. “That's two hours from now. Main terminal, McCarran Airport. You got that?” Arthur hangs up before Lovino could respond and wondered how he's going to dig himself out of this. The sounds of the police station came back to him, giving him an idea. 

 

He turns and locks eyes with an FBI agent who was supervising him from a distance. “Where's Alfred? I want to make a deal.”

 

The FBI Agent was hesitant, wondering what the Brit was contriving, but complied and went to get the inspector. Arthur sat in his seat waiting patiently for a few minutes until the FBI agent came back with Alfred who moves through the cops and comes up to the spy, waiting to hear what he has to say. 

 

“What would you do if I could deliver you Jameson?” Arthur asked out of the blue.

 

“How do you mean "deliver"?” Alfred asked in return, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

“Well, for starters, conspiracy to destroy government evidence.”

 

“What government evidence?” Alfred wasn’t comprehending the situation; there is no government evidence on Jameson, that’s why he’s so untouchable from the law.

 

Arthur had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes due to Alfred's lack of comprehension and asks him another question: “Would you let me take [Name] and clear her of all charges?”

 

Alfred can see the deadly seriousness in Arthur's eyes, how they hardened looking ready for the kill. Alfred grasped how you were probably much more than a Federal witness if you've made a man like Arthur so attached. “Tell me more,” he said.

 

“Well, I'll have to tell you on the way because we've got to be in Las Vegas in two hours.”

Alfred gave the signal to fire up a private Federal jet, heading towards their destination along with a team of FBI agents. It was a private jet complete with immobile sofas and a long coffee table where Alfred, Arthur, and many Feds were discussing the plot to take Jameson down.

 

“If he takes those disks, even though they're blank, that's the overt act, correct?” one agent asked.

 

Alfred is about to answer but Arthur beats him to it. “If he just sets foot in the airport, he's committed an overt act. Conspiracy to obstruct justice.”

 

All of the agents listened to Arthur attentively, clearly admiring him. “If he shows up with [Name], you can add kidnapping. If he shows up with anyone packing a gun, you can add conspiracy to commit murder. The fact that it's an airport - and Jones, correct me if you think I'm wrong here - you can slap an ITAR* rap on him as well.”

“But he has to take the disks in order for this to work.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you think he'll show?” Alfred asked, wanting to know how sound this scheme was.

 

“Oh, he'll show. He's got no choice.” Arthur said with brimming confidence,

 

The blue-eyed American is impressed and looks at Arthur with a smirk before he turns to one of the agents, pointing a finger to Arthur. “Get a wire on him.” 

 

\-----------

 

The lights of Las Vegas twinkle in the distance at the penthouse. Jameson stood in his large office, taking a stance that gave him an aggressive posture; looking as if he could lunge over the desk of his office towards his men, and actually looked down upon everyone as if to silently affirm his feelings of superiority. He gives out the details to his bodyguards as Jett paces nervously. 

 

“Get it? I want ten of our best people and I don't want any fuck-ups this time. As soon as I get ahold of those disks, I want them both dropped!” Jameson summarized his entire speech, feeling as if his goons wouldn't understand otherwise.

 

“I don't think you should do this,” his attorney interjected with worry.

 

A bodyguard helps Jameson with his coat as he replied, “Oh, you don't? What do you propose I do?”

 

“Send somebody with a cash offer. Give this guy whatever the hell he wants but don't do this.”

 

“A man like him won't take any money from me,” he reasoned. “He knows I'd come and get it an hour later. In his mind this is clean. He gets what he wants. I get what I want. The guy's a fuckin' burnout.”

 

“Morro, listen…”

 

Jameson turns and heads for the door with his goons, “Jett. Sit down. Relax. Have a sandwich. Drink a glass of milk. Do some fucking thing.” He ignored Jett's wise words and heads for the door. For a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest.

 

The opulent doors of his luxury home swung open revealing Jameson and the four bodyguards with him. They move with purpose, almost in step, heading for Jameson's sleek limousine. Hiding out behind tall hedges that surround the house, posted FBI agents watch them as they pass. One agent turns away, picking up a walkie-talkie, “He's on his way.”

 

Jameson's charcoal limousine pulled out of the raised driveway and moves up to street level, almost blending in with the ebony shade of night. The limousine moves into traffic at the Las Vegas strip: red, amber, and green spheres stand on top of large black poles, appearing and disappearing, whilst cars rush past and stop by them. Bars and casinos displayed their illuminating green, blue and red neon signs, drawing to them eager chumps like a moth a flame. 

 

The street distractions made it hard for the other FBI agents, hiding out in their vehicles, to find the elongated car. After a few minutes of searching, Jameson was spotted. Two FBI cars - one parked at the curb, the other from the front of the casino - came to life and move off in pursuit. 

 

As Jameson's limousine passes another street, a third FBI car makes a U-turn as if from nowhere and joins in the surveillance. An FBI agent speaks into the radio, “We're on him.”

 

\-----------

 

The private FBI jet carrying the dynamic duo approached the shining, city lights of Vegas. Everyone is strapping in for landing. One FBI agent is checking the wire Arthur is wearing for the final time. The wire was hidden under Arthur's shirt and jacket; anything he or anyone within a seven feet radius says could be overheard by the FBI who will be recording the dialogue he will exchange with Jameson.

 

Arthur feels the rush of adrenaline again flood his body, except this time it felt right. He didn't feel scared, but rather he felt thrilled. 

 

The noise of static caught his attention and turned to Alfred who took out his speakerphone, “This is Jones.”

 

“Jameson's just left and is heading west on Vegas Boulevard,” the voice said on the other side said. Alfred throws a glance at Arthur expecting a wave of anger to wash over his face, but instead, he was genuinely grinning.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Alfred asked.

 

“I haven’t had this excitement in a while.”

 

\-----------

 

Jameson's limo pulls up in front, followed by the FBI cars which duck out of sight, to park in a discreet location. The mobster gets out of his limo and walks towards another limo parked at the curb and gets in where you, Lovino and Feliciano sat. 

 

You mentally prepared yourself for this moment, and yet each second felt like it was going to quickly and too slowly. You accepted the fact that you may not live after this night. However, you had overheard Lovino yelling at Arthur through the phone during the ride in the jet and knew that something was up, giving you some hope to cling onto. After everything you've been through with that dense, hotheaded, grumpy, devilish, tsundere, gentle, most wonderful man you've ever met, you had all the reason to believe in him as silly as it might seem in this circumstance.

 

But this did not abate the fear that was welling up inside you. You sat anxiously in your seat, staring at the outline of your legs. You knew you were going to face him eventually, which Lovino kept rubbing in your face much to your displeasure. You knew that your past will intersect with your present; that you'll have to face your likely murderer who drove you towards paranoia and tried hunting you down for a year. 

 

And right in front of you, he sits, like a corrupt judge itching to hand out a death penalty.

 

Jameson leans back in the leather seat of the vehicle and smiles at you, “So we finally meet. I'm in the presence of greatness. A woman who robs from the scum of the earth and gives to the unfortunates of the world. I wanted to meet you face-to-face.” He suddenly leans in dangerously close by leaning his arms on his knees and spoke in a sinister, low voice. “Did you actually think that you were going to steal my money and get away with it?”

 

Your heart rate accelerated but you still showed no fear.

 

“I stopped by here to tell you two things.” he continued, sounding strangely more casual. “Number one is that you're going to die tonight.” You looked to the floor of the limo, your eyes downcast. 

 

“Number two: I'm going to go home, have a nice hot meal, then find your brother. And I'm going to kill him too.” you faced him with wide eyes. How did he find out? Was it recently? Do they know where he is?

 

You visibly stiffened at this, trying to prevent yourself from strangling him. Fire in the form of water stung your (e/c) eyes, threatening their attack. Your throat closed in threat of screaming profanities at the man before you. You breathed in through your nose heavily to calm the rage boiling inside.

 

Jameson leans in and slaps you across the face, leaving a red mark on your cheek. You didn’t cry, you won’t cry and show your weakness to a sub-human like him. His actions stiffened both henchmen in the car, even Lovino.

 

Jameson shifts in his seat planning to get out of the limo, with some of his thugs hovering around the vehicle. “Feliciano, Lovino, stay here and wait for my call. The rest of you come with me.”

 

\-----------

 

The private FBI jet touches down and thunders toward the far end of the airport, roaring to a stop. Arthur, Alfred, and other FBI agents descend the steps of the jet and were directed by the agents toward the main terminal. Several FBI and police cars are discreetly parked nearby.

 

Arthur strolled through the crowded terminal and moves from one of the arms of McCarran Airport to the gorgeous, glass, main terminal - the front of the airport. His verdant eyes scanned the setting before him and saw no agents in sight, nor a sign of Jameson or [Name]. He stops in front of the escalator that moved downwards to the main terminal. From here, he's on his own with no weapon and no shield. 

 

He turns back to the small group of FBI agents setting up their equipment between a large pillar and the escalator. He made brief eye contact with Alfred, who stood in a dignified way with his hands in his pockets and gave a nod as a sign of good luck. Arthur half-heartedly smiles back before he descends the escalator alone, heading for the center of the terminal where he can be clearly seen. 

 

A few of Jameson's bodyguards, who blended in with the plethora of businessmen at the airport, entered and quickly located Arthur. Instinctively, they fanned out into the crowd and stood in their designated places.

 

The blue-eyed inspector and his fellow officers look through binoculars down at Arthur from the balcony. One Federal officer sets up a camera to take pictures of the confrontation and another listening in on the wire. 

 

Arthur walked amidst the crowd towards the center, people bustling by him like a horde of shadowy figures walk past him, neither paying any mind to each other. Suddenly, Alfred notices Jameson coming into sight.

 

“Here he comes,” Alfred whispered.

 

The Englishman stops in his tracks as he sees a well-dressed male that gave off a roguish aura, walking towards him. Jameson looks at Arthur's ragged appearance, laughs and claps softly.

 

“I’m impressed!” Jameson admitted in between claps. “Hearing about your stunts that you’ve been pulling, clearly shows that behind all that angst and, erm...” Jameson paused thinking of another way to push Arthur’s buttons. 

 

“...bushy eyebrows,” he continued. “There’s a real fighter!”

 

“And behind all that insufferable smarm is a dead man.” Arthur’s voice stony.

 

Jameson just sneered, “You couldn’t fathom the amount of dead men behind me.”

 

“Neither could you.” Arthur clearly showed he wasn’t being intimidated by him, which irked the mobster.

 

“You got the disks or did you lose them too? Like your girlfriend.” He was provoking Arthur, trying to get him make an offense. The British agent just coldly stared back.

 

“Give him the disks,” Alfred whispered to himself as he and a group of FBI agents watched secretly from above.

 

“Well, I see you but I don't see the girl.” Arthur deducted.

 

“We'll worry about her in a minute.”

 

“No, we have to worry about her now. This isn't a fucking get together! If I don't see her in five seconds, I'm walking.”

 

“You're way too serious. Why don't we take a walk together and go get the li’l lady.”

 

“Fuck you. See you at the arraignment.” Arthur starts to walk as Jameson calls out to him. 

 

“Alright, Art. Hold up.” Arthur turns slowly and angrily towards him, slightly annoyed on how he’s using nicknames, playing the friendly negotiator card. 

 

“Fine. You win,” Jameson admitted a little too calmly and willingly. He swivels his head to the side and nods to a man by a phone to which the goon nods back and places a call. 

 

Arthur is pissed. “I said no goons.”

 

“Don't worry about him. You're going to get what you want,” Jameson reasoned.

 

The FBI agents that were discreetly seeing the interaction from the balcony, all had their hearts in their throats. 

 

“I'm going to have a heart attack before this is over…” Alfred whispered to one of his colleagues. ‘And won’t be due to my eating habits.’ he thought to himself.

 

Lovino and Feliciano appear with you, each grabbing one of your arms. Once you were in front of the mafioso boss and the secret agent, Arthur motioned for you to get behind him. You quickly did so and peeked around Arthur like a scared child would hide behind his or her parent.

 

“Good, now that’s over with, what am I missing?” Jameson feigned a thoughtful face before his eyes darken and looked at Arthur. 

 

“Oh yeah, I remember,” he suddenly punched Arthur hard in the abdomen and hunches over a bit. You grabbed your saviour by the shoulders to steady him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. However, the impact caused Arthur's wire to go dead. One of the FBI agents on the balcony looks up to turn to Alfred with alarm. “The wire's gone dead.”

 

Jameson snatched the disks while Arthur was still hunched over and moves off with Lovino and Feliciano. The other goons in the airport begin to approach you and your companion. They all had their hands in their vest, clearly reaching for their concealed weapons. Arthur sees them drawing closer and frantically whisper yells into his jacket, “He's got the disks. He's got the disks.” 

 

Back at the balcony, Alfred turns to one of his agents peering down at the seen with binoculars. “Did he take the disks?” The agent shook his head and put down the binoculars. “I don’t know, there was too much going on.”

 

Arthur stood up straight, ignoring the pain in his abdomen and was still trying to talk into his jacket. “He’s got the disks, Jameson’s got the disks,” his voice getting more frantic as the goons were closing in at a perfect shooting range. 

 

Finally, Arthur turns to the balcony and yells, “Jameson's got the disks! Jameson's got the disks!”

 

Jameson turns around towards the commotion only to realize that he's been caught. Suddenly, Feds move in from everywhere and apprehended Jameson, Lovino, Feliciano, and the goons. There are nearly a hundred Federal agents that continue swarming in. Alfred came down from the balcony with poise, gliding down the steps like a slinking panther and towards Jameson with his trademark smile.

 

“You know, there's something I've been wanting to say to you for years,” he said with his blue eyes shining mischievously.

 

“Oh, yeah? What's that?” Jameson asked with a sarcastic inquiry.

 

“You're under arrest.” Jameson just glared at him as he is cuffed and is removed by several Federal agents along with his men that were then escorted just outside the terminal to an FBI van. Alfred looked at the scene with a satisfied smile and detected a pair of green eyes staring at him. He turns to Arthur who also smiled.

 

“We still have a deal, Jones?” Arthur asked, gesturing towards an uncomprehending you.

 

“We have a deal,” the American smiled and walked away with his squadron. 

 

All in a day's work.


	11. Free...

Arthur looked down at you with a warm smile. You stared at him with happy disbelief. "How did you know this was going to work?"

 

“I had a strong feeling,” he said.

 

“A feeling is not much to go on,” you argued playfully.

 

“Sometimes a feeling is all I have to go on.” 

 

You shyly laughed trying to get rid of the awkwardness; it was admirable yet annoying how smooth Arthur could be with his choice of words. You looked on at the scene in front of you: police officers walking around the scene and having mini discussions, trying to get gaping tourists to mind their own business and assuring the airport's employees that everything is under control. Out of astronomical odds, you survived thanks to Arthur. 

 

You smiled at the thought, “you almost make me believe in luck.”

 

“Why, [Name], you almost make me believe in miracles.” 

 

"Dammit, Arthur, quit being so smooth.”

 

He laughed and looked on at the scene with you. But something triggered Arthur, something was off; he felt like a pair of eyes were watching him. His smile disappears as he surveyed the terminal and made contact with another a pair of green eyes, creating a virescent riot. The man from the shadows all those years ago was in the flesh standing well away from Arthur but gained his attention nonetheless. The two men upheld their glare until a few people walked by causing Arthur’s vision of him to be blocked for a few seconds, but when those people left he was gone.

 

Arthur briskly walks towards the spot where Antonio was standing, you following behind him. As Arthur nears the spot, he stops in his tracks when he discovered a folded piece of parchment on the floor. The emerald-eyed Englishman picks up the paper and unfolds it to see only numbers inscribed on it and realized that the numbers formed a date and coordinates.

 

“What’s that?” you asked.

 

“The mission isn’t over,” your companion said sternly.

 

\-------------

 

You had gone outside to find Alfred and seek his aid. You both need a better understanding of the genesis of Blue Intel and Antonio, and examine what their motives were. It wasn't hard to locate the 6'2" grinning American who was conversing with his colleagues regarding Jameson’s arrest. 

 

“Jones!” Arthur shouted causing sapphires to meet emeralds. Alfred turned to say a few words apologetically to his men before he walked over to where you stood.

 

“Is something the matter?” he asked, his cerulean eyes twinkled with faint concern.

 

“I’m afraid we have another favor to ask you,” Arthur paused. “I need to interrogate Jameson.”

 

Alfred did a double take. “Um, you want to do what?”

 

“Look,” Arthur leaned closer so others won’t hear. “My mission isn’t complete and I need to ask your man in custody some questions.”

 

Alfred studied Arthur as if he was crazy. He turned his head and hesitated for a bit before he ran a hand through his blonde hair, temporarily smoothing his ahoge as Arthur tried to sway him. 

 

Meanwhile, you felt a pang in your heart. Shouldn’t you be thrilled that a man who ruined your life is getting put away? You should. But you weren’t. 

 

It was the Brit’s doing. Those days you spent with him caused you to fall for him despite his cold and blunt personality he showed you at first. You hadn’t had a real friend, let alone human companionship for a long time. Arthur was your outlet, a beacon, a compass, your friend. But he was also your thief; he stole your heart and rendered you helpless. The two of you can never be together: he was a spy, and you were no longer running from the law. 

 

You sighed and moved to enter a vacant taxi. The time has come for those long last looks that must end. And as you leave, you know that you're leaving an irreplaceable piece of your life behind. But just as your hand was about to grasp the door handle, Arthur beats you to it.

 

“Where do you think you're going?” His voice held so much seriousness.

 

“Home,” you said simply. “You’ve done your job. You've protected me, and now I don’t need to be protected anymore.” You gave him a sad smile.

 

Arthur could sense your emotions and reciprocated those feelings. “[Name], if you want to go home that’s fine. But, the mission isn’t over yet.” You looked up at him trying to figure out what he meant. “My boss told me to protect you until the mission is complete. So what do you say, will you stay beside me?”

 

Your sad smile turned into a bright one, “I guess I could.” 

 

The two of you laughed softly until Alfred showed up and tapped Arthur on the shoulder, “You can speak to him now.”

 

\-----------

 

The blue-eyed FBI Inspector led you to a van where the mobster- correction, monster - sat cuffed with two Agents on either side of him. It was satisfying for you to see those handcuffs on him, the way the manacles glinted silver and encompassed his wrists perfectly and securely. Alfred opened the van’s door and let you and Arthur in before he closed it. Jameson's sunglasses were confiscated revealing his fuming, hazel eyes in a better light.

 

“What do you want? Rub this situation in my face?” Jameson growled. “Huh?!” 

 

“How much do you know about Blue Intel?” Arthur asked calmly.

 

“What’s it to ya?” Jameson sneered.

 

“I want to know anything regarding Angra.” As Arthur knew already, Blue Intel was a covert spying network, an independent derivative from the NSA. It was quickly shut down by higher-ups in the government who stumbled upon the organization, due to its many flaws and violations of ethics such as the Assassination Experiment. But there were still holes that need to be filled in. 

 

Jameson pondered for a minute before he let out a dry chuckle, “Well, if it means I’m not the only one going down, then sure I’ll tell ya.” He agreed with a sinister but defeated smile.

 

“You see, Blue Intel started with a low-key politician, claiming it was for the sake of national security when it was actually used for power. A man after my own ambitions. Angra was a spy named Antonio Carriedo, who was experimented on by Blue Intel’s Assassination Skills Enhancement Experiment. It was a project that was funded through US slush funds.”

 

“Slush funds?” You questioned.

 

“It's a reserve of money used for illicit purposes, especially political bribery,” Arthur explained. “Next question: why were you mentioned in the Blue Intel files?” The agent addressed to his cuffed enemy.

 

“I had to do some dealings with the Blue Intel peeps when they were still around. I used to sell the founder drugs which he would have distributed to poor neighborhoods to lower the voter turnout for the opposing party, so he can have more influence in the government. But his plan didn’t work out. Either way, he was a failure. But he gave me the immunity card for a while and made me the wealthy man I am today.”

 

“You’re sick!” you spat, disgusted at what these people do to for fame, power, and money.

 

“It’s reality, sweetheart~” Jameson smirked. “There are some miracles and some nightmares bound to be true.”

 

Arthur threw another question: “Why is Angra leaking out information on spy agencies?”

 

“Beats me. He must have a reason of his own. I do know that he had killed those directly involved in his experimentation. Makes sense. But I don’t why he’s after spies like you.”

 

Well, at least that got him somewhere. “That will be all,” Arthur concluded as the two of you turned to leave the van. After you got out, the Feds waiting by the van closed its doors and locked it.

 

“Hey! Double O' Seven man!” a booming voice said. Arthur restrained a groan at the stupid nickname and faced Alfred walking towards you. He stopped in front of Arthur and held out a piece of parchment. “My guys and I ran the coordinates you gave us through our computer and found the location.”

 

“Where does it lead?”

 

“Devil's Drop Cliff in the Sierra Nevada. Not too far from here. We even got a ride for you.” Alfred cocked his head to the side to gesture towards said vehicle. Arthur took back the piece of parchment and muttered a small, but genuine thanks before he started walking towards the car. 

 

“So why is Angr- I mean, Antonio sending messages to you?” you questioned.

 

“I don’t know, but I all I know is that as long as he is on the loose people’s lives are in peril,” Arthur said as he got in the driver's seat and you in the passenger's. “We won't solve anything by talking about it. The trigger's been pulled. We have to get there before the hammer falls.” 

 

\-------------------------

 

In the day, the forest would've been a beautiful getaway: the sun's rays would reflect off of the leaves' chlorophyll, making the canopy form an emerald mosaic above. But in the night, the trees were dark, the leaves look like ebony blades covering parts of the violet sky that was streaked by clouds. 

 

As Arthur drove, you pretended that you were going on a trip, you pretended that your parents were driving and you were nine-years-old all tuckered out from a party that your loving relatives had thrown. You tried hard to distract yourself, but it was proven useless. 

 

Arthur parked the car near a tree. He turned at you and gave you some directions. “Stay in the passenger seat. Don’t leave the car. I don’t know what kind of person he is now, so if he hurts you use this,” Arthur pulls out a second gun and hands it over to you. You reluctantly took it in your hand, not comfortable with the object. It felt a lot denser than you imagined, a lot colder too.

 

“Will you be alright?” you asked, worry in your voice. 

 

Arthur stayed silent. “You’ll be fine,” he finally said and offered you a small smile. The grin you saw on his face changes into a grim set of the jaw, eyes resembling that of burning coal. He left the car, leaving you behind with no promises of a return.

 

The aroma of petrichor wafted from the soil, filling Arthur's nose. His ears became sharper and his mind paranoid: ever snap of a twig was a predator, even if it was his own shoes crunching the forest floor, but he didn't give away his brave posture. As he goes through the forest he sees a large opening and tenser than a tiger who stalks his prey, Arthur glided deeper in the thicket. As he steps out onto the clearing, he realizes that this particular section of the forest is on one giant plateau. It was as large as a stage unoccupied by any type of plant that overlooked a river a thousand feet below. 

 

Arthur heard some rustling and saw a figure jump out at him from the trees. He turned quickly and shot at it. The figure blocked the bullet with his hand causing it to have a bloody gaping hole but seems unfazed by it. With the same hand, he grabs Arthur by the top of the head and pushes him backward, nearly sending him off the cliff. Arthur quickly lifted up his foot to kick the gun out of the assailant's hand. They both fell, then quickly got up to get into a fighting stance. 

 

“I thought you would show up, Kirkland,” Antonio spoke so low that his Spanish accent was nearly lost in the menacing voice. “Last time we met, I had missed the fatal spot, but just barely.” His brown messy hair revealed one of his dark green eyes as he referred to the time he shot Arthur in the alley. 

 

Arthur growled. “Too bad you missed.”

 

“I won't this time.” Antonio grin widened. 

 

Simultaneously, they both lunged at each other and proceeded to fight with hand-to-hand combat that they had learnt from their training. They proceed to punch, block and kick each other and grunting angrily every time they hit, missed, or took a blow. 

 

Antonio punched Arthur in the stomach hard, causing him to stumble back. As the Spanish man approached him, Arthur left hooked him. The fighting continued with both men raining blows at each other. At one point Antonio easily grabbed Arthur with one hand by his shirt and threw him to the ground hard. 

 

Arthur rolled over to avoid any kicks before he hook-kicked Antonio in the face. Antonio deceived Arthur by feigning a kick causing Arthur to block with his outstretched arm. Antonio moves behind him and grabs the side his stomach where his liver is and proceeded to dig in his fingers with his thumb pressing painfully against his back. “That's funny, amigo. I can feel your spine. I didn't know you had one.”

 

Arthur grunted and tried to escape this grip. He moved forward a bit, stretched out his arm before he reeled it back in and started to use his elbow to hit Antonio’s face. The lethal duo moved away from each other. Arthur realized he was bleeding from the side of his stomach where Antonio had grabbed him, proving him that those experiments gave him inhuman strength. 

 

Antonio is seen holding two guns: his own and Arthur’s. He moves closer aiming only one gun at him and spoke. “You want to know why I used Blue Intel to hunt down government officials?” Antonio examined at Arthur who was looking haggard and breathing heavily. “They claim their labors are to build a heaven, yet their heaven is populated by horrors. Horrors that organizations such as MI6, the CIA, any groups such as these create. This is about justice. And I'm offering order, I'm offering retribution!” 

 

Antonio sneered at Arthur as he delivered his motive his eyes seeming distorted like his personality, “Well, I'll exact justice by creating a world of my own. By slaughtering every single impurity that coincides with such corruption anything against me. Like the agencies, like anything that dared to deceive me.”

 

“And here we are on a planet of sheep,” his olive eyes rivaling Arthur’s emerald ones. “Two tigers: predators, hunters, killers. And it is precisely that which makes us great. And there is a world to be taken.”

 

“It's a very large world, Carriedo, full of people who don't like violent madmen like you.”

 

“Excellent. Then it shall be a matter of testing each other's wills. Of power. Survival must be earned, Kirkland. Unless you want to run.” He throws back Arthur’s gun a fair distance from him, though. So if he’d move for it, he'd be shot at before he can reach his weapon.

 

“Nobody throws me my own gun and tells me to run,” Arthur grumbled menacingly. “Nobody.”

 

Antonio just smirked as he drew a little closer to Arthur. “Tell me before this life of yours ends: did I die in that cell long ago and is this world just a dream?” He moved a bit closer with his gun still aimed at Arthur’s head. “Or is this world real, and the experiment is just a nightmare that I can’t wake up from?”

 

Arthur stared at him with cold fury as Antonio smirked and started to pull the trigger.

 

You ran, feet kissing the forest floor. Perhaps a little while ago you would have balked at the idea of running so far and fast, now you relish the prospect. These feet were made to travel at speed and as light as the paws of a lioness. Breathing steady, heart strong.

 

You weren't going to stand idly by. You were going to fight by using stealth.

 

You had come to the scene just at the edge of the forest, and pulled out a metal piece and aimed your gun, the shadows of the trees provided you coverage. A bullet had fired at almost supersonic speed making contact with Antonio’s shoulder, causing him to bark in surprise and stumble. 

 

Arthur used your brave stunt to his advantage; he lunged forward like a lion and quickly swiped for his gun before he skillfully rolled onto his feet standing erectly as if the movement took no effort at all. The two men were a few yards away and were aiming each of their weapons at each other at chest level. It was a stand-off for a few moments until a trigger was pulled and a shot rang out. 

 

Arthur saw Antonio drop his weapon and hit the floor. The British agent ran over to him and knelt beside him. You came closer and observed the scene. 

 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Arthur asked.

 

Antonio opened his eyes slowly and spoke in a soft voice. “I remember…we used to be friends,” he drew in a breath before he continued to speak, “That's why I couldn't shoot then...and that's why...I couldn't shoot now.” 

 

His eyes reflected the little lights in the sky as the clouds drifted away to reveal the naked sky, feeling his sanity come back to him. “I remember, whenever I used to look at the stars, everything felt real.” He searched his memories as if searching if he ever really lived. He was satisfied with what he discovered.

 

“And now, that it’s over... I can see the world so clearly...” Antonio closed his eyes for the final time and let out the soft breath his body was containing. His torment and agony finally at a rest. 

 

Arthur and you just stood there somberly for a while and looked at the tragic man who was finally able to find some peace as a swift shooting star illuminated the sky. 

 

\-----------

 

The night sky was a deep navy causing the colors of the canyons to have its colors dull into different shades of blue. One could watch from the plateaus the hard brilliance of the stars, enjoying the incredible hazy swarm of a star cluster. 

 

The cold, blue-white smoke of a gaseous nebula - the arm of Earth’s galaxy, spread over a strip of the sky like distant milk, filling the space with an icy tinge, and slowly disappearing out of sight as dawn nears. 

 

But if one listens closely, he or she can hear the soft sound of singing echoing through the night. It was low and throaty, but the hymn had a soft rhythm to it. It felt ancient, as if this song was passed down from generation to generation which covered their ancestors' achievements and struggles in some low notes.

 

The song was coming from an old Indian chief, who was covered in a crown of feathers and bearing the paint that represents strength and honor, a code that many lived and died by.

 

As the chief sung, his campfire crackling along, his descendant couldn’t help but look at the sky. For a brief moment, his granddaughter sitting close by gasped as she saw a brief streak of light before it disappeared.

 

“Look, a shooting star!” she said with childish wonder.

 

“That is no ordinary star, my child. That is the tear of a warrior.” The elder spoke. She looked at him with curiosity as his old eyes stared off into the abyss above accompanied by its little lights. 

 

“A lost soul who has finished his battles somewhere on this Earth,” he continued. “A pitiful soul who could not peacefully find his way to the lofty realm where the great spirit awaits us all.”

 

He closed his eyes and resumed singing, cutting through the silent night but reaching no ears.

 

em>Except for those restless souls stuck in this world, trying to find peace within themselves. And when they do, shut doors will be thrown wide open.


	12. Not Going To Stay

You sat in the lobby of a hotel, staring down at your hands that were once covered in Arthur's blood and reflected back on what happened in the past hour. You realized Arthur was looking paler than usual, causing you to shift your gaze from Antonio's peaceful body and realized a dark substance was seeping out from the side of his stomach. He would've collapsed if you hadn't caught him. As fast as you could, you guided the wounded, stumbling spy into the passenger seat of the car. 

 

Antonio did some serious damage to Arthur. In fact, he needed some stitches for the side of his hip. You turned the key that was left in the ignition slot and purred the engine to life. You were out of practice and kept hitting some brush that surrounded the forest until the tires finally made contact with asphalt and sped down the road. 

 

It was too far to reach a hospital, and your jacket that you gave to Arthur to stop the bleeding was soaked in the red liquid. You feared you were running out of time. You could see blinking red and blue lights up ahead forming a small blockade. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a familiar figure. Alfred had figured that Arthur would get himself in trouble, so he managed to follow your coordinates and found you. For the first time, you were thankful to see an FBI agent and pleaded him to help. 

 

Alfred drove in one of the police cars with you in the backseat tending to Arthur the best you can with a small first aid kit. Alfred told you that he will take you to a nearby hotel since the hospital was too far, and already had a room ready for the two of you, and even hired a group of medics to heal him in the hotel room.

 

“Excuse me, miss?” You snapped out of your thoughts as an FBI agent approached you with a friendly smile. “Inspector Jones wishes to escort you to Mr. Kirkland’s room.”

 

“How is he?” you were referring to Arthur.

 

“The damage wasn’t significant, so he’ll be alright.” A wave of relief washed over you at the man’s words. He cocked his head to the side, motioning you to follow him to where the elevators were.

 

As your feet padded against the marble ground, you started to reflect on the series of events that took place, and now thinking about the characters you’ve met so far and wondered what they were going to do: Alfred would probably lead his unit somewhere else, Antonio is hopefully in a better place, Arthur was now resting up, and come to think of it, there’s a bail bill you need to pay to some Romanian guy. 

 

Speaking of, you were going to testify in Federal Court to put Jameson away for good, but Alfred told you that it won’t be necessary due to all the acts he committed triggered by Arthur’s plan. A swell of pride took over you; you were very proud of him for contriving something so clever. 

 

You saw a familiar FBI agent stand by the elevator holding something. “Hey,” He chuckled before handing you a canvas bag. You curiously peeked inside and recognized that it was filled with all of your belongings that his team must have kept after raiding the hotel room you were staying at during that fateful night. You took them gratefully and gave him a smile. You heart suddenly dropped a bit; you felt like this will be the last time you’ll see Arthur once you meet him. 

 

Alfred sensed your sadness as the two of you walked into the elevator, going up many floors. 

 

That, or you’re just easy to read for these intelligence experts.

 

“You okay?” He asked with an understanding smile still on his face. You offered him a smile back and lied, “I’m fine.” Another emotion entered your system; it felt strange for an FBI agent to be nice to you after all these years of running from them. 

 

A small ding echoed as the metallic doors slid open. You followed Alfred until he stopped at the door to knock. A few locks opening were heard before the large piece of wood swung open to reveal a disheveled Englishman.

 

You smiled at his appearance. He had some bruises and a small cut above his eye covered with dried blood, but he gave you a grin. You cut off the eye contact as subtle as you could and set your view downwards; you realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt - just a few bandages wrapped around his torso. 

 

“Hey love,” He beamed before glancing over at Alfred with furrowed eyebrows. “Still planning to throw me in jail?” He said it with a poker face, but it was obvious he was trying to hold back a smile, no matter how skilled he is. This caused Alfred to laugh briefly. “No, you’d be too much of a hassle for us,” Alfred admitted. 

 

Arthur looked back at you saw the distress hidden in your eyes before looking back at Alfred. “Thank you for bringing her, Alfred.” 

 

Alfred nodded slowly comprehending that this was his signal to leave the two of you alone. With an understanding smile, he headed towards the elevators. You watched him until you heard Arthur call out to you.

 

“Yeah?” You played casual to avoid any suspicions. But you knew that Arthur knew.

 

“Spill it already.” His eyebrows furrowed themselves together as his eyes never left yours. You stayed silent as you stared back down. 

 

He sighed before grabbing for your small hand and started to pull you inside the hotel room gently. You walked into the living space as Arthur shut the door. It appeared a lot nicer than the other hotel you were at with Arthur; it had very plush looking sofas that were so inviting. As you made your way over to have a seat, you noticed a waste bin in the corner of the room overflowing with bloody gauzes. Normally, a medical sight such as this wouldn’t bother you this much, but the trauma caused you to be oversensitive. 

 

You sat down at the end of the sofa putting your canvas bag to the side, fiddling with your thumbs until you saw Arthur sit close by to you on an armchair. He put his hand in his pajama pants’ pocket and pulled out a small roll of cash.

 

“Here,” he offered. “It’s for your ride home and possibly for a treat or two if there’s any money left over.” 

 

You smiled at his gesture and shook your head. “No, I can’t take this.”

 

“It’s a gift, no takebacks.” He too smiled, leaning forward in his seat to give you a closer reach. You took the money from him reluctantly before pocketing away.

 

“Listen, Arthur.” you began after a comfortable silence. “If you ever stop by my hometown, [city name]...”

 

“Yeah, I’ll look you up.” He held out his hand which you accepted and gently shook. 

 

“Take care.” you whispered, about to get up and leave.

 

“Don’t leave,” Arthur both demanded and pleaded. You stayed seated in the sofa waiting for him to speak.

 

“I need to tell you something.” He paused and thought about his words carefully. He placed a finger to his lips, looking at nothing in thought. “I still can’t shake this strange feeling but because it’s you, I feel like you’re my responsibility somehow. As if, I need to watch over you and protect you. It’s probably in my nature as a spy, or…” he was lost in his thought again as if he didn’t believe his own conclusion. 

 

“I enjoy spending time with you too”, you replied early with a small laugh.

 

He smiled back and took a sip of his tea in amusement. “I suppose I do enjoy my time with you. You’re important to me. Remember that, the last thing I want is you getting hurt.”

 

Your heart skipped a beat. “Why is that?”

 

“Because…” he was lost again. He chuckled, “I guess it’s because I care about you.” His green orbs looked into your own with a soft and sympathetic expression. This him… it was completely different. 

 

You were so touched but so heartbroken. The paradox was overwhelming as you stared at him with your eyes watering slightly, speaking in a soft brittle voice, “Why can't you stay?”

 

Arthur's loving look was replaced with regret, “It's not that simple.”

 

“But--”

 

“Listen to me,” he held your face in his hands, with the saddest yet most self-loathing look you'd ever seen “I am fucked up.”

 

You few tears escaped your eyes. Arthur brushed away the drops of water with his thumbs and continued to speak in a softer voice, his look turning into concern. “You know what I do, and I'm not sure how I can remain with you when others try to hunt me down,” he licked his dry lips. “If I could, then I would; I'll go wherever you will go. Whether it's up high or down low. And maybe I'll find out a way to come back. If I can't, then I hope there's someone out there who'll bring me back to you.”   
He concluded his declaration with a tight embrace, afraid to let go, but knows he'll soon lose. 

 

\------------

 

You two were currently in comfy pajamas, lying on your shared bed after you both recovered from your emotional breakdowns. You were tired to remember how, but somehow you managed to forget each other's worries with a simple statement. 

 

And since you had a hotel room the FBI paid for just the two of you, why not use it. Arthur wrapped his hands around your waist and drew you closer to him. “You know they say this hotel holds the world’s most comfy bed,” you chuckled.

 

“Oh, I see. This bed certainly is nice.” He snuggled so close to you that you could feel the tickle of his breath on your neck. He kissed the nape of your neck and smiled. “Regardless if we didn’t get along at first, I’ll never regret meeting you.” Something warm and fuzzy hit your heart as he spoke those sentimental words. You moved your head towards him as he did, leaning over your face with a warm smile. 

 

The both of you shared a lovely and deep kiss, over and over again. You leaned forwards as his fingers knotted in your hair while you wrapped my arms around his neck. You’ve never kissed anyone before but this felt so natural.

 

“Good night, [Name].”

 

“Good night, Arthur.”

 

This has been the first time in a while where you could go gentle into this good night. As the two of you slept away your troubles, the stars from your bedroom window shone as if whispering a soft ‘good night’ under heaven’s skies.


	13. Epilogue

_Some say the end is near._  
_Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon._

 

The music made your skin tingle. The bass thumped in time with your heartbeat as though they were one, filling you from head to toe with music. You nodded your head to the beat as you lounged on the sofa and listened to the song playing on the stereo in the living room.

 

_I certainly hope we will._  
_I sure could use a vacation from this_  
_Bull. Shit. Three. Ring. Circus. Sideshow... of... freaks!_  
_Here in this hopeless fucking hole we call L.A._  
_The only way to fix it is to flush it all away._  
_Any fucking time. Any fucking day._  
_Learn to swim, I’ll see you down in Arizona Bay._

 

You knew Arthur liked rock music, but you never thought he’d go as far as to make music of his own. This song was dedicated to the crazy time you had in all over western America. However, he also used this song to make fun of stereotypical Americans (especially the ones who live in Los Angeles) such as Alfred. You remembered he handed you a CD of his favorite songs and snuck his own in there. When it played, you were immediately blown away. You remember how you laughed and said that you never knew how angsty Arthur could be. 

 

You sighed contently, sinking into the cushions of the sofa in your nice apartment near L.A. The very same city where you and Arthur had met. Speaking of the Brit, he should be coming back from a nearby tea shop so he can make is herbal blends at home. 

 

Coincidentally, the door to your living room clicked and walked in your boyfriend. That’s right, it’s official. 

 

When you both confessed a few months ago, you agreed that though you have strong feelings for each other, it was necessary to get everything sorted out. Arthur had returned to England and walked into a familiar sleek office. His boss sat at his desk, looking busy as usual and glanced up at Arthur. But that's strange, this doesn't look like the same Arthur that went on the mission a little over a week ago. 

 

Arthur had a prominent gleam in his eyes, a hidden joy he discovered shining through. He stood in front of his boss, made some light and friendly small talk before he humbly apologized to his advisor in a form of gratitude. Needless to say, his boss’s reaction was priceless, his eyes wide and his brows shooting upward. His shock morphed into a gentle smile that stretched his middle-aged face and thanked Arthur in return. And for the first time, Arthur smiled back at him. 

 

About a month later, Arthur realized he was tired living in secret and tired of being isolated from a regular life. So he did the unexpected and resigned. All files on him were erased, he was paid handsomely as a gift from some sources. He was last seen giving a firm handshake to his boss with an optimistic and melancholic grin. He pivoted on his foot leaving the office for the final time, leaving most of his staff - who strongly admired him - in awe, as the top spy of MI6 walked away.

 

Meanwhile, you had gone back to your family who never felt happier, but there was one important person who you had yet to meet. Finally, after a year, you’ve met your best friend who stuck with you through thick and thin. 

 

In all your glory, your brother stood before you with that friendly smile he always had. You walked over to him mirroring his expression. But when you were just a few feet away from him, (b/n) noticed there was something wrong with your smile. It seemed… sinister. You had a dangerous, knowing gleam in your eyes and your grin turned into a wide smirk. Your brother tried to back away, but it was too late. 

 

You had wrapped both of your hands around his neck and started to aggressively shake him back and forward, “YOU IDIOT! THIS IS WHY I TOLD YOU NOT TO SASS BACK AND ACT ALL ROBINHOOD! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” you paused your shaking partly because you wanted an answer and partly because you got tired. 

 

“Okay! Okay! You were right! Is that what you wanted to hear?!” (b/n) replied back.

 

“YES!”

 

“‘Kay. Could you let go of me know?” you released him and noticed how the top part of his shirt was all crinkled. You swore you heard one relative say ‘at least they are back to normal.’

 

“...Well, I guess I owe you one.” your brother joked.

 

“Yeah, you do,” you laughed back. 

 

“Seriously, though. I’m sorry,” this was one of the rare times your brother had apologized, looking so serious which wasn’t normal for him, “Heh. I bet you regret helping me out too, right?”

 

You hesitated, thinking of all the fear you had to go through, and how you managed to get a stroke of luck. You’ve met Arthur, had the wildest adventure of your dreams and put a mobster in prison! You smiled at those fresh memories, “No, I don’t. And never will.”

 

You snapped back to reality when arms settled around your shoulders and jumped slightly. “You really need to stop spacing out love~” Arthur cooed.

 

“Hey there, Blondie” you earned a groan from Arthur which made you chuckle.

 

He rolled his eyes playfully and moved away from you to make his way to the open kitchen. You left your spot on the sofa to follow as he set down the canvas bag that carried his precious cargo.

 

"What’d you get this time?" you asked, referring to the type of tea he bought. After living with him for a while, you became a connoisseur of these herbal blends.

 

“I got Earl Grey and Egyptian Liquorice along with your favorite biscuits.”

 

“Ooh~ but then why does the bag look bigger than usual?” you pointed towards the folded cloth that bulged due to the items inside.

 

“Because I got you a chocolate babka,” Arthur answered.

 

“What's that?”

 

“I don’t know, but it’s chocolate. And...” Arthur had pulled out some type of cookie that was iced with vanilla fondant on one side and the other half with by a chocolate fondant. 

 

“I got myself a black and white cookie. Look at it: it's like two races of flavor living side by side in harmony. A wonderful thing, isn't it?” He took a bite out of the vanilla-chocolate cookie as you guffawed and shook your head at his terrible and possibly provocative analogy.

 

"You know, I often wonder what you'll be like when you're senile." you plopped yourself down on the sofa, leaving space for Arthur. The sofa’s cushions shifting under his weight.

 

"I'm looking forward to it," he joked.

 

"Yeah, I think it'll be a very smooth transition for you." you leaned over and gave him a hug which he lightly returned. Something was bothering him and you knew, no matter how hard he tried to hide it with a smile or a joke. "What's wrong?"

 

Arthur stiffened a bit and pulled away, chewing his lip as his hands clutched at each other. “Just something unimportant, love.”

 

Rolling your eyes, you pushed your cheek into the palm of your hand. “If it was something so unimportant your hands wouldn't be clasped just as tight as your jaw.”

 

He paused for a moment, a disgruntled look on his face as he realized you were right. You nudged closer to him and snuggled into his neck, your arms around him.

 

“Now what’s wrong?” You muttered, nuzzling into his jaw. “You can tell me.” The blond tensed, one of his legs now jiggling up and down. He dragged a hand through his messy hair in frustration.

 

“It’s just…. I’m nervous about meeting your family.” you still kept him in your embrace, you quickly remembered that he has brothers that he cut off relations with due to fights and his job, and was too hesitant to reconnect with them. But he is willing to try one of these days. You pulled away and tried to make him feel better.

 

“Come on, Ex-Agent Kirkland. You can handle deadly scenarios but not my family? That’s like Steve Erwin getting scared of a platypus,” you giggled causing Arthur's lips to curve slightly upward.

 

“I know, but still.”

 

“Look, they're pretty chill and they’ll accept you don’t worry. Except for my dad, he’ll hate your guts.”

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?!”

 

“Relax, I'm kidding,” you admitted. Arthur just reclined back in the seat and closed his eyes momentarily. He was still tired from his job as a rock musician and from his occupation as a writer for action movies. It was pretty impressive how he landed that job, but then again, due to his recent service in America, he had connections through Alfred that gave him the opportunity to have a simplistic but unique career. He works at home most of the times which he was happy with since he could be with you more, and then occasionally commutes to Hollywood to see the production. 

 

As he was thinking away, you sneakily drunk his Earl Grey. You smacked your lips gaining his attention. “Why?” he sounded as if you insulted his very being.

 

You grinned cockily and laughed,“You snooze, you lose~" 

 

Your laugh turned into a short yelp as Arthur tackled you and pinned you between the sofa and himself. You can't help but feel all of him lying above you, and smiled at his comfortable weight. The left side of his lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god-like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way. His hands found their way under your shirt, brushing the sides of your hips.

 

Arthur’s fingers must be electric, for wherever they touch your skin tingles and your body feels as if it’s going through a transitory paralysis. He leaned in closer until his lips met yours, causing your hands to wander up to his gold locks, messing up the already tousled hair. 

 

Your lips fitted perfectly - as if they were meant for each other. Moving against and feeling each other. Arthur grabbed the back of your neck in a gentle and rough way, growling in the kiss as you whimpered in pleasure. He loved how you tasted like tea, he loved how you smelled like lavender, and especially how your body reacted to his.

 

You both broke apart smiling at each other. Arthur lowered his face, this time resting his forehead against yours, making you drown into those emerald pools of his. “Why'd you fall for a guy like me?”

 

It was a rhetorical question, you both knew that. But you decided to answer it. “I knew I was in trouble from the first day I saw you, with all that mischief you brought. It was there to see as plainly as stars in a dark sky. What else was I going to do but fall in love with you?”

 

This caused Arthur to blush slightly. He'd never had someone to display such affection to him. In fact, he originally thought if anyone did something like that it would be uncomfortable. But with you, it felt natural and right.

 

The alarm on his phone went off, disrupting the mood. He realized that it was time and crawled off of you to get back on his feet. He stood up and held his hand out to you like a gentleman with that addicting smile he had,“C'mon, love. We'll miss the train otherwise, and I don't think your family would like that.”

 

You accepted his hand with exaggerated grace to bother him until he yanked you upward suddenly, almost making you fall. "Arthur!"

 

He just chuckled and wrapped one arm around you and used his free hand to twirl the house keys as you made your way to exit your home and lock the door.

 

In an age of cynicism, it's the small gestures of affection between two lovers that represent a golden strand of truth. Yet for Arthur, they can never adequately capture the strands of emotions that tumble through the air whenever his heart turns to you.

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, everybody? I'm Gold_Blooded and I'm proud to say that I'm a new member to AO3.  
> I have a DA account (Fox-on-the-run) and a Quotev account (Fox1583) So if you happen to see my works elsewhere, please notify me!
> 
> If you like all the things I like, you will notice a crap ton of references in the story. Feel free to shout them out!  
> I literally just went "how do I incorporate the things I like in here?..."  
> *Throws in a bunch of references and half-ass this shit*  
> "Done." :3 
> 
> And since this is a spyfic, I wanted to say how I was inspired by a lot of Spy England stories especially the ones from Deviantart user horseandwolflover93 who managed to introduce England in an interesting way and got inspired from her.
> 
> I'm also trying to capture England as a sort of cold/reckless person, so I'm sorry in advance if he appears to OOC.
> 
> Oh yeah, the beginning is kind of weird but it'll make sense later.
> 
> READ THE DISCLAIMER: I do not own:  
> Arthur Kirkland a.k.a. APH England
> 
> He belongs to Himaruya, Hidekaz


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